


As The Smoke Clears

by cosette141



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt Neal Caffrey, Neal whump, Neal/Kate - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosette141/pseuds/cosette141
Summary: (spoiler alert for season 1 and beginning of season 2!) After the plane exploded, we see Neal fall apart and Peter hold him back, then two months go by unseen. Here are the events that took place after the explosion. H/C





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> Right after the plane exploded in season 1, we see Peter pulling Neal back and Neal a complete mess. I wrote this with the intention of it being a oneshot just of the moment right after the plane exploded but I don't know if I should continue it to see what happened within those two months, with Neal being, well, a mess and back in jail and all that stuff. I don't know. Well, lemme know if you want me to continue it! :)
> 
> I'm starting this with the beginning of their conversation at the hanger, right when Peter catches up to Neal. Thanks in advance for reading and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> ~cosette141

"Neal!"

Neal stopped cold, dropped his hand from the air and his eyes from Kate's. He felt something rise within him, something like  _fear_  like  _resistance_  but he fought to shove it back down. He shut his eyes, willing some strength to return to his now-numb limbs. She was so close. He could see her. He could  _see_  her.

But something had made him stop at the sound of Peter's voice. He turned.

Neal nodded toward the plane, where Kate was still waiting on the steps. He looked back to her, her long, dark hair flowing in the breeze kicked up by the turbines of the small plane. In only a few moments, Neal would get to touch her again.  _Feel_  her. Sweep her in his arms and hold her so tight, so close. And never let her go. Smile on his face, Neal told Peter, "I'm getting on that plane." And the words  _and you aren't going to stop me_ went unspoken.

"I'm not going to stop you." said Peter, and Neal wasn't too surprised the agent read his mind. He took a few steps closer, grinning at Neal like this was all some inside joke. Like he wasn't the FBI agent who'd chased him for years, who'd arrested him, who'd been his rival. Or even the handler he had become.

He was just a friend.

And yet… somehow, that was more threatening to Neal than Peter had ever been.

"It's been a good run, Peter," Neal told him, keeping his mixed emotions toward the man deep below the surface. As much as his heart yearned for his reunion with Kate, not fifty feet from where he stood, he felt another pull—a stronger one—keep him rooted to the ground. Here, with Peter. Maybe because he felt that Peter ought to have an explanation. Maybe because Neal owed it to him. "But it's legal; everything's legal."

"I know." Peter stopped a few yards away from him, not moving any closer. He was still smiling.

Neal let silence linger for a moment, unsaid words littering the seconds with tension. Confusion. Feeling something stirring within him—something almost like  _doubt_ —Neal took a breath. "Goodbye, Peter."

He started back toward the plane. Kate's face appeared in the window.  _This is the beginning of our life_ , Neal thought. His eyes traced the features of her face, so much he wanted to kiss her…

"You said goodbye to everyone but me." Neal stopped and turned, fully expecting Peter's smile to have dropped. But it hadn't. If anything, he seemed to be  _enjoying_  this. Like he didn't even seem to care that Neal was leaving. Or… he didn't even believe he would. The confidence in his face and eyes made Neal's waver. His heart twisted the smallest bit in his chest, one tiny shift of confusion.

"I just want to know why." said Peter. He wasn't asking as his handler. Or as an agent interrogating him. He was asking as a friend.

Neal shook his head, breaking out into a grin, too. He couldn't deny it anymore; he was torn. "You know why."

"I do?"

_He's really gonna make me say it_ , thought Neal amusedly. "Because you're the only one who could change my mind."

And there—he said it. What his entire being had been rebelling against. The  _truth._

Peter looked thoughtful. He cocked his head, gently prodding, "Did I?"

The mixture of emotions fought beneath his skin. His desire to see Kate and his friendship with Peter felt like he was being ripped apart. Pulled in the two different directions. Pressing into him, threatening to overtake him. He looked back toward Kate. She waved through the window. Her eyes shined. The same way they did the moment he first laid eyes on her when they met. He took a step toward the plane.

His heart surged. His smile grew. He lost himself in the emotion. He kept toward it, more steps toward the plane.

He stopped. Without even thinking it, without feeling it. Something—some invisible thread was pulling him backward. He stood still on the tarmac, frozen between two worlds. He hesitated. Turned back toward his—best—friend.

"Peter," he said heavily.

And then, his world exploded.

Heat—scorching, burning—heat and a blast of air shoved him backward, an invisible wall throwing him backward onto the pavement. The blast rang in his ears, so intense it blotted out all thought, all emotion, all anything. The span of seconds felt like hours—days.

And time suddenly caught up to him. In a flash—an instant. The plane was destroyed. Flames leapt out of the burning mess. Black smoke billowed into the air.

_Kate_.

Neal staggered to his feet, eyes wide, her name the only desperate thought that ran straight from his mind to his heart and into the core of his very being.

The smoke obliterated the plane. She'd been right there. Right in front of him. But the window she'd been behind didn't even exist anymore. The space where her beautiful face had been, the eyes he lost himself in, was now filled by smoke and nothing but filthy air.

"No," Neal felt himself gasp. He began to run, all coherent thought lost except for the fact that  _she had been right there,_ right there, but arms were around him, holding him back, yanking him away. "No,  _no_!" He was screaming; he knew he was. His eyes burned, tears slipped down his face, stinging his eyes. He didn't stop fighting the arms behind him until a sob forced its way out of his chest. The heavy truth whispered from the back of his mind.

_She's dead._

Another broken sound escaped him, and his legs gave out. He barely felt the arms around him catch him as he fell, slowly lowering him to the ground. He hit the pavement again, hands and knees scraping the gravel, another sob wracking his body. " _No_ ," he whispered in a broken voice.

"Neal,  _Neal_ —" Peter was in front of him. Gripping his shoulders. Neal shut his eyes, averting his gaze from the burning mess. Maybe if he didn't see it. Maybe if he pretended… maybe it didn't happen.

"…a team here right now!" Peter was saying, the words a garbled mess in Neal's ringing ears.

_We were finally going to be together._

They were going to go away. Start their life. He'd waited so long… searched for her his entire sentence in jail, and for months afterward, trying to find her, to save her…

And now…

"Neal!"

He was gently shaken. His mind was so disconnected from him that he didn't know what that notion was supposed to mean. All he saw were patches of gravel and fragmented memories flash before his eyes. Memories that kept coming and wouldn't stop. He shut his eyes, hot tears burning them.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but the firm grip on his shoulder never left. Not until car suddenly pulled up on the hanger, red lights flashing. Feet pounded across the asphalt. Peter's hand still didn't leave him.

-.-.

"Peter!"

Peter looked up from Neal, who was so far in shock he was truly worried. Diana stopped in front of him. "Is Caffrey all right?"

"He's…" Peter took a breath, nodding toward the burning plane, where several fire trucks had just pulled up to. He brought his voice down, though he was nearly certain Neal wasn't tracking the conversation. "Kate was on the plane."

Diana's eyes widened. "Oh, my god…" She looked back down to Neal, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Is he…?"

"He's in shock," said Peter, squeezing his hand on Neal's shoulder. But he felt his own hand tremble the slightest bit.  _And he's not the only one._ "We should get him out of here," Peter added quieter.

Diana nodded. She turned and left.

Peter returned his gaze to Neal. "Neal…"

Neal seemed to be a bit more with it now than he had been a moment ago. He shifted his gaze from the ground to Peter. The look in his eyes—such a lost, broken look—chilled Peter's heart. "She—" He couldn't get past the first syllable. His voice caught and his shoulders shook.

"Neal, I'm so sorry," said Peter as gently as he could. He suddenly desperately wished for Elizabeth. She would know what to say. Peter heaved a sigh. Neal shouldn't have to stay here and watch this. He needed to get him out of here.

"Actually," said a voice from behind Peter. "We can take care of Mr. Caffrey, Agent Burke."

Peter tightened his grip on Neal's shoulder before he turned. An FBI agent he was unfamiliar with was looking at him blankly, flanked by two other statue-like agents. "Excuse me?" asked Peter in a clipped voice. "Take care of him? What are you talking about?"

The agent nodded his head toward the plane. "With all due respect, Agent Burke…" He nodded a head toward Neal, who was still frozen in shock.

"What?" demanded Peter.

"Sir," said the agent, in a slightly lowered voice. "We've been instructed to take Mr. Caffrey into custody."

"By who?" exclaimed Peter.

"We received calls from D.C. since the explosion. Caffrey was involved with this particular aircraft and—"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Peter harshly, holding up a hand to silence the man. "You think  _Caffrey_  did this?"

The agent shared an uncomfortable look with his comrade. "Agent Burke, we have reason to believe he—"

"He did not do this!" exclaimed Peter in such a harsh, forceful whisper it effectively shut the agent up. Peter took a dangerous step toward the younger man, glaring daggers. The anger that coursed through him burned his veins. "He just lost the only person he cared about in that explosion, not  _thirty minutes ago_!" he hissed. "There's no damned way Caffrey ordered this attack."

The agent swallowed, struggling to meet Peter's eyes. He took a moment before he could reply, gathering his words. "I understand, Agent Burke. But it's protocol. Until he's proven clean…" He handed Peter some folded up paperwork.

Peter snatched it and skimmed the document. His eyes settled on the last of it.

_Signed, Garret Fowler_.

No wonder it got here so quickly.

Peter rubbed a hand over his face, looking back down at Neal, who was still pale as a ghost, staring at the still-burning plane.

"I am perfectly capable of handling Neal," said Peter at last, changing tactics. "Leave him in my custody. He won't leave my sight."

"We've been told to relocate him back in the city penitentiary."

Cold settled in Peter's gut.

_Prison_.

Without waiting for Peter's reply, the agent nodded to his friends and they each approached Neal and grabbed an arm. They lifted him to his feet and Neal seemed to break free from the haze he'd been drowned in. The paper in Peter's hand crumpled as his fist tightened, rage consuming him.  _His girlfriend was just murdered and they're hauling him to jail_?!

"Peter—" gasped Neal, his eyes red and scared. For the first time since he'd known him, Peter had never seen Neal look so young and frightened.

"Neal—" Peter grabbed Neal's shoulder. He glowered at the men. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded to the two emotionless agents.

"Peter," said Diana suddenly, rushing up next to him. "What's happening?"

"They're arresting Neal," said Peter blankly.

Neal's eyes only widened. "Arresting—" He looked between the two agents holding him. The disjointed pieces of the mess must have clicked in his mind. He went a shade paler. "I—I didn't do this! I—how could I—" His voice broke as his hands were cuffed behind him by one of the agents. Neal looked helplessly to Peter. "I didn't…" He couldn't finish the sentence. His voice cracked just the slightest bit, only enough for Peter to hear the ghost of it. It made his heart rip in two.

Peter suddenly embraced Neal, using the time to whisper, "I know, Neal. I'm sorry. I can't stop them. But I'll get you out as soon as I can." He released his CI to look him in the eye. "I  _promise_."

Neal didn't say anything. He still looked lost and broken. The agents pulled him away and he reluctantly went with him, not a single look back.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter watched the agents take Neal away through slitted eyes.  _Fowler_. Like that bastard hadn't already done enough.

Sirens continued to cut through the air signaling the arrival of more of the fire department and even more agents. Peter jammed the arrest letter into the pocket of his jacket.

"It was Fowler, wasn't it?"

Peter almost started at the voice to his left. Diana was back, looking at him. She had something about her that made it look like she was in the middle of about thirty different tasks, but her attention was solely focused on Peter.  _She really is the best agent I've ever worked alongside_.

Peter looked back at the plane. Flames were still alive but it was much less than before. It was now a black, charred hunk of metal, a skeleton of the aircraft it was. "I don't know," said Peter after a moment. He hadn't had any time to even think about how it could have happened, not to mention  _who_. But if he had to guess a theory… the wing-tipped shoe certainly fit. He turned back to Diana. "I'll figure that out later."

She hesitated for a half a second, hitching her voice down a few decibels. "Peter… what do you want to do with… you know?"

Peter didn't have to ask. The music box. Right after Peter shot Fowler, Peter left him with Diana to go after Neal. Diana had told him she was going to take him straight to White Collar under Hughes' supervision. But Peter spared a few precious minutes to discuss the fate of the music box. He knew if they turned it into evidence, they'd never see it again and it would remain untouchable. Or, tempt Neal enough to break even heavier laws. No, Peter's plan was to bend the rules just enough to figure out what the whole thing was about and what was so damn important about a tiny little box that seemingly played a little tune.

Peter leveled her with a serious gaze. "Where is it now?"

"Back of my car." said Diana almost inaudibly.

Peter nodded. "Your apartment; you have a safe?"

Diana gave another nod. "You want  _me_  to hold onto it, then?"

Peter nodded. "If anyone comes around looking for it, I'd be one of the first on their list. It's safer this way."

Diana nodded with a determined smile. "On it." She left at her fast, purposeful walk off the hanger.

Now alone, Peter watched the firefighters calm the fire and rubbed a hand over his face. So much has happened in the past  _thirty minutes_. So much that he hasn't even started to figure out. But he was a cop first and foremost and he followed procedure by the book. Even  _emotional_ procedure. Which usually was…

Save them for your off hours.

He had to figure out what to  _do_.

His pocket buzzed and Peter shook himself, grabbing his phone without bothering to check the number. "Burke," he said tiredly.

"Peter," said a voice on the other line, that sounded half angry and yet half relieved. Peter immediately recognized Hughes' voice. "Get down here."

"We have a bit of a problem," said Peter gravely, already having dreaded this inevitable phone call.

"More than one." said Hughes firmly. "Now get down here."

The call dropped dead and Peter took one last look at the plane before turning and walking away.

* * *

"He  _what_?!"

Hughes leaned back in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his face as Peter pushed himself to his feet in outrage. "Peter-"

"What the hell-have they lost their  _minds_?" exclaimed Peter angrily. "You're telling me they let Fowler  _walk away_?"

"We didn't have a choice, Burke," said Hughes firmly. "There's no evidence that he did anything. No such 'Mentor' operation with his name on it, not even with the drive that Berrigan acquired."

"But-" Peter sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. He was almost too angry to speak.

Hughes held up a hand to stop him. "Fowler aside, you have bigger problems, Peter. Today was a mess. The entire department took this hit. Your CI just about took a plane to an undisclosed location,  _off anklet_ , there's a murder hanging over his head-"

" _He did not do this_!" Peter almost yelled, so sick of having to repeat himself. Feeling stupid that he actually  _had_  to keep repeating it because  _why on earth do so many people think Neal is capable of such a thing_? "Reese, you  _know_  that kid would never cross a line like this. Especially his fricken  _girlfriend_!"

Hughes sat up in his chair, leveling a strong gaze over Peter. "If you'd let me finish, Burke, I didn't say I was accusing him. I'm just saying that he's  _been_ accused. And in a situation like this, we've got a hell of a mess to clean up!"

"Then bring him in  _here_ ," said Peter, and he was surprised that he was almost pleading. "Bring Neal into White Collar, cuff him to a table and talk to him. Get our information that way. He doesn't need to go back to prison, he-he  _shouldn't_ , Reese-"

Hughes shook his head. "This department has already gone out of its way to accommodate him- _despite_  yours and his closing rates," he added before Peter could interrupt. "But he was off anklet, Peter. Can you really blame the city for being paranoid? He almost  _hopped a plane_." Hughes sat back and rubbed a hand over his face. "We pulled a hell of a lot of strings getting him out of prison in the first place. Without your perseverance it never would have happened. And frankly they're not just looking at Caffrey, Peter, they're going to be tearing apart your career so they can find someone to blame for this whole thing." Peter was quiet at that and Hughes sighed. "Murderer or not, Burke, Caffrey  _did_  play a big part in this mess. Leave him there while we clear things up.  _If_  we clear them up at this point."

The word  _if_ had a strong impact on Peter. It caught in his chest and surprised him.  _If_ had never even occurred to him. Peter hesitated, trying to gather his words. "Fine. We'll leave him there for a few days. It won't take forensics long to piece together what exactly happened. None of it will tie back to Neal."

"Regardless if Caffrey is clean of the murder conviction, he's not out of the woods, Peter," said Hughes. "There's still the whole  _he was going to escape_  bit that you keep forgetting. Internal Affairs was on the fence when you suggested the deal from the start… it's going to take a lot of ass kissing if there's any chance to get them to agree to the deal again." He leaned forward, crossing his arms over the desktop. "And the first part in that is to  _go home_ , Peter."

Peter looked at him like he was crazy. "Go home? Are you kidding?"

Hughes raised an eyebrow. "Unless you've already forgotten about your suspension."

Peter shut his eyes. Right. Not even a day before Peter had clocked Fowler and gotten suspended for it. He had completely forgotten about it.

"Internal Affairs will plan a meeting with you after our heads stop spinning." said Hughes, standing. Peter lifted himself to his feet. "Just… stay out of it, for now, alright, Burke?" Hughes' gaze wasn't hard anymore, it was tired and sincere. Peter understood well enough. This was his mess, and Hughes was only trying to keep him out of more trouble.

Peter just hesitated. "What… what about Neal?"

Hughes cocked a brow. "What about Caffrey?"

"He…" Peter trailed off. "We had a ninety-seven percent conviction rate, Reese. Snitches in prison…"

Hughes nodded. "I've told them to give him protection. They're good men, they'll watch his back."

Peter nodded, but the knot didn't loosen in his chest. The same knot he'd had ever since Neal had been dragged away. "Thanks." he said anyway.

He let himself out of the office. He stood at the top of the stairs, a fire burning inside him, a desperation to  _do_  something. Against his every instinct, he walked numbly through the building, these days completely immune to the judgemental looks shot his way, and reluctantly drove home.

* * *

A vase of flowers was sitting on the table to greet him.

Peter shut the door and heavily leaned back against the door. The house was quiet. Such a contradiction to what he felt, to all the noise inside his head. Worry. Anger. No, not anger.  _Fury_.

"Peter?"

El's voice called from the kitchen. Peter walked into the house with heavy, slow footsteps that lead him to the table. He stared at the flowers.

"Oh! Those are from the attractive man I'm having an affair with."

Peter didn't even react. "Hmm?"

Elizabeth walked into his view. Her brow creased. "Peter, it was a joke… are you okay?"

Peter just blinked. "It's… It's Neal."

Elizabeth just relaxed and laughed. "Peter, it's okay. The flowers are just an apology; I'm sure he didn't mean anything else by it. And you should hear what he did for me!" She had the biggest smile. Peter didn't want to break it. He sat down in the dining room chair.

"He got me a job at the Channing Museum!" she gushed excitedly. "I know you don't know what that means, but… but it's like your little league baseball team playing at the Superbowl."

Part of Peter realized she was mixing up the sports, most likely on purpose to get his attention, but he couldn't bring himself to react.

"We should have him over for dinner, Peter, I really… I know this was an attempt to make things right," she went on, "I think Neal  _is_  sorry."

Peter shut his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. "Neal's been arrested."

Elizabeth froze. Peter opened his eyes and she looked at him in confusion. "I just talked to him this morning; what are you talking about?"

Peter swallowed hard. "He's been arrested. For the murder of Kate Moreau."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. She stood speechless for a moment. "He… the  _what_?"

"He didn't do it," said Peter, but this time the words came at an almost inaudible whisper. Like he finally exhausted the words.

"But… Kate's  _dead_?"

Peter nodded.

"Oh, my god…" Shock and pity colored her eyes. She sank into the chair beside him. "God, Neal… is he alright?"

Peter shook his head. "No."

"Peter, what happened?"

Peter took a breath. "Neal… he was in some half-baked deal with Fowler." Peter's fist clenched at the name. "Rat bastard promised Neal some free pass to escape with Kate in exchange for the damn music box. I found Neal at that hanger, he had a plane all ready to go, Kate right there on it. I tried to…" He rubbed a hand over his face. "I tried to talk him out of it, El. But before I could, the plane… exploded."

Elizabeth covered her mouth. It took her a long moment to speak and something dark and sad settled in her eyes. "So…"

Peter nodded at the unasked question. "If I didn't stop him, he'd have been on that plane." His eyes burned a little and he swallowed. He brought himself to look at his wife. "Someone tried to kill him, El." Something burned in the back of his throat and he shook himself. "If he'd gotten on there five minutes earlier, he'd be…"

El's hand found his, resting over it. "But he's not, Peter. He's fine. Thanks to  _you_."

Peter just shook his head, using the hand she covered to push himself up from the table. "No, El, he's not." He leaned over the back of the chair, his knuckles white. "You should have seen him. The minute that plane exploded…" He gripped the chair so hard he thought he'd break it. "He's a wreck, El. I've never seen him look like that before. I've never seen  _anyone_  look like that before." He kept flashing back to Neal, kneeling on that tarmac, the pure devastation in his eyes.

Elizabeth just looked at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. Her eyes fell to the flowers on the table. She looked back at Peter. "So why on earth are they hauling him back to prison?"

" _Fowler_." said Peter angrily. "Fowler!" he growled, pushing off the chair so that it rattled on its frame and pacing haphazardly. "That bastard erased all ties to himself and pinned it on Neal. They think  _he_  rigged the plane."

"And kill his own girlfriend?" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Are they kidding?"

"It was hell just to  _get_  this deal with Neal in the first place," he said, the fury slowly leaving him. "If I can't get it back, he's going to be… to be stuck in that place, for… who knows how long. He… I don't…" Peter sank back into the chair. He shook his head. "He needs… he needs a  _friend_ , El." Not only that, but Neal needed to get out of  _that_  particular prison, if anything. The last time Neal went back to prison, after he'd been framed, Neal had only been there for a few days, and Peter had ensured his safety in every way he could. But this time he didn't have a badge to wave in the prison at the moment.

And if anything happened to his CI, to his  _partner_ , that… that would be his fault. And that would be something he would never forgive himself for. Neal was Peter's responsibility. In every sense of the word.

But Peter didn't have the heart to share  _this_  particular concern with his wife.

Elizabeth took Peter's hand in both of hers. They were quiet for a while. "What can we do?" she eventually asked.

Peter just laughed humorlessly. "Nothing. And I keep getting reminded that I don't have a badge." He rubbed his face with his free hand. "Hughes is setting up a meeting with Internal Affairs in a few days to clean up the mess. The  _least_  we can do is get my badge back and get that murder off Neal's head. And I'll try to get the deal reinstated." He looked at Elizabeth and sighed. "But that still takes time.  _Protocol_  still takes time. Neal's gonna be stuck there for the time being and there's nothing I can do about it."

Elizabeth stood and pulled Peter into a hug. He shut his eyes and hugged her back, trying to erase the burning in the back of his throat. "He watched her die, El." He shook his head against her shoulder. "That girl was the only thing strong enough to get him to escape two months before his sentence was up, and she's gone." The burning was back. "She was his rock. Neal doesn't have that anymore, El."

She pulled him in tighter. "No, he doesn't." she said after a while. "He has something better. He has you."


	3. Chapter 3

" _I don't like this, Neal…"_

_Neal just grinned, his charming smile seeming to bring a little pink into Kate's cheeks. They were sitting side by side in the back of a cop's cruiser._

_They each had handcuffs on their wrists. Kate was looking apprehensive, but Neal just grabbed her hand, his handcuffs jingling a little. He never bothered to care about handcuffs. He'd practiced slipping them enough times that they were never really a restraint for him._

_The car swerved sharply, sending Neal crashing into the door on his right and Kate falling into him._

" _Watch it, Moz!" said Neal, shooting him a look through the barred window separating them from the little driver._

" _Squirrel," was all Mozzie said._

_They were in the middle of a con, where Mozzie was acting as a cop to get some loot from their destination and Neal and Kate were making themselves look the part: criminals on their way to prison._

" _Neal," said Kate after they righted themselves._

" _Learn how to drive, asshole!" cried Mozzie out the window and Neal smacked himself in the face._

" _Cops don't—ugh, whatever," he muttered._

" _Neal," said Kate again, a little panicked. He finally looked back over at her and she was messing with the handcuffs, trying to get them off. Tears were in her eyes. "I can't—"_

" _Hey," he said, lifting his cuffed hands and resting one hand on her cheek. "What's wrong? No tears," he said softly._

" _I can't get out of these," she said. "And this… whole situation is… this feels far too real…"_

_Kate had only really just started running with them on the wrong side of the law. She wasn't used to it. Neal understood; she lived a normal life, hardly done any wrong. But after everything they'd gone through, her resentment had led her here. And maybe he had, too._

" _Yeah," said Neal, nodding. "This is an unpleasant recurring dream." He shifted and cupped her face. "But the payout is great, you know that. And Moz and I have run this con a million times."_

" _But how do I get out?" she whispered. She held up her wrists._

_Neal fiddled with his for a second and they snapped off. Kate's eyes widened, impress and curiosity sparkling in them. "How…?"_

" _Like this," he said, taking her hands in his and teaching her one of the tricks he used to get out of them. After her third try, she managed. She smiled and looked at him. "Wow," she breathed. "That's so cool!"_

" _Show time, guys," said Mozzie from the front._

_Neal and Kate snapped their handcuffs back on. Neal pressed his fingers into hers. "I'll never leave you trapped," he whispered, his eyes burning with sincerity. "Anywhere. Ever. You need me, I'll be there. You can count on me."_

_Kate smiled, tears glistening in her eyes._

The cruiser hit a pothole, jarring Neal back to the present. He blinked. He could feel dried tears on his cheeks. The sirens were wailing from the cruiser and the cop was speeding, almost as if he was afraid keeping Neal too long would give him time to escape.

Neal stared at the cuffs around his wrists. They were ice cold. And his hands were shaking.

_Kate_.

A flash.

The plane, her face. Standing in the doorway. Her hair in the wind. Her smile. His heart.

Peter.

Fire.

_Kate_.

He shut his eyes. They burned. They burned so much.

" _You need me, I'll be there_."

Neal's chest constricted. He could feel her, sitting in the cruiser, her hands in his. His promise leaving his lips. Her smile. Her eyes.  _Her trust_.

" _You can count on me_."

He let this happen. She was there, only weeks before. He saw her from the phone booth. She was scared. She was so scared. And he let her disappear. Again.

He couldn't protect her.

Couldn't save her.

He promised.

_He promised_.

"Hey."

Something shook the car. Neal blinked, the world coming back into focus. One of the FBI agents was standing outside his open door. He'd kicked the car to get Neal's attention.

"Come on, Caffrey. Get out."

Neal forced his legs to comply. Before he was even all the way out, his arm was grabbed. The door was shut and then his other arm was grabbed by the FBI agent who'd driven. Their grips were crushing. He looked up.

Prison.

The fear that should have struck his heart didn't. He was too numb for that.

" _Neal."_

_Neal smiled at her through the bulletproof glass. Her voice through the prison phone was staticky and dull but it was her nonetheless. She'd been visiting him every week during his stay. She was the reason he hasn't completely lost his mind._

_He still hasn't even heard from Mozzie._

_It's been three years and nine months._

" _Kate," said Neal, his voice tender. He missed her. He missed her so damn much. It's been years since he touched her._ Really  _touched her. Without a camera on his back or a guard's laser eyes on his every move. "There was something I started reading I think you'd like. It's—"_

" _Neal, we need to talk."_

_Neal froze. His words died on his tongue. He sat back, waiting for her to continue._

" _I…" she hesitated. "I don't think I can keep doing this."_

_Neal's heart froze. His breath caught and his face shifted in confusion. "Wh-what are you talking about?"_

" _This." said Kate. "Us."_

_Neal's chest seized._

" _Wait," he said, panic rising. "What happened? We were fine last week! I don't—"_

_Kate stood. "I'm sorry, Neal—"_

_Neal stood as well. "No! Kate, just—just wait. Please. What did I do? What… ?"_

" _Neal," she sighed. "I can't keep doing this. Coming back here every week. It's just… too hard."_

_Neal just stared. "But… Kate, I get out in three months. You've been coming for three years, why all of a sudden—"_

" _I'm just done, Neal!" she snapped. "I need you, and you're… you're here."_

_Neal stared. What the hell…? Something was off. Really off. She was fine. And something about her words sounded strange, too._

" _Kate—"_

" _Goodbye, Neal."_

_Kate hung up the phone and turned and walked away._

" _KATE!" yelled Neal, slamming a fist against the glass. But she didn't turn back. She kept walking._

_And never looked back._

"Caffrey!"

"What's wrong with him? He gone deaf?"

"He's been like that since the car."

A hand slammed down on a table in front of Neal, jerking him back to the present. He blinked fast, taking in the new surroundings. He was in a room. A prison guard was in front of him. Two flanked his side. Papers were in front of him. His hands were cuffed to the table.

He recognized this.

Processing.

It seemed to hit him all at once.

_Prison_.

He was back in  _prison_.

Reality struck him like a blast of cold water. The realization of where he was and what was going on was shattered in front of him but vivid. A rush of warring emotions hit at once. He blinked again as panic rose. "W-wait," he said suddenly. "What... what am I doing here?" Confusion twisted his brows.

"What's it look like?" said the guard in front of him with disdain. He jabbed a finger at the papers. "Fingerprints. Now."

When Neal didn't do anything, his hand was grabbed and it was done for him.

Neal jerked back his hand. "I'm not supposed to be here," he said firmly, though his voice came out all hoarse and shaken. "Where's... where's Peter Burke?"

"Not here." the man said emotionlessly. "Stand."

Neal didn't. For the first time in what felt like years he was thrust into the present. But he couldn't for the life of him remember what he was here  _for_. "What's… what am I doing here?" he repeated, his panic stumbling through his words.

"Get him up."

He was lifted and the guard stood. He walked over to Neal and grabbed him by the front of the shirt. He shoved him up against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

"What—" began Neal.

"I can't believe they let you out in the first place. You stole my wife's credit card," he growled. "You got me demoted."

Neal blinked. It took him a long second to get his thoughts to piece together. No wonder the man looked familiar. He'd used this man's wife's credit card numbers to escape. That felt so long ago.

_Sitting in the empty apartment. The one Kate used to live in. The one_ they  _used to live in._

_Everything was gone._

_Ripped up. Memories gone. Wiped away._

_He escaped prison only hours ago. He managed to decode her messages._

_The bottle._

" _I need you, but you're here."_

_He understood, and he risked everything. He ran._

_But he was too late._

"You've been charged with first degree murder and fleeing the country with an outstanding sentence," the guard growled, shattering Neal's daze, then roughly released Neal from the wall. "That's why you're here." His back throbbed. "And you're not running away again. I will make sure of that."

_Murder_.

Another flash.

_Kate's face._

_Black, billowing smoke._

Neal lost his breath. He felt reality slip through his weak grasp. Memories crashed into him. Realization hit again.

_She's dead._

"But I… didn't—" His chest hurt. His eyes burned.

"That's yet to be seen. Take him downstairs."

He was dragged out of the room. He hardly took notice.

_Murder_.

More images cascaded down.

_Kate, the first time they met. The beautiful dress she wore the night he first laid eyes on her. Where he knew,_  he knew _, she was special._

_Their first real date. He stole a car. She was impressed. He made her laugh. He loved making her laugh._

Another flash.

A real one.

Someone snapped a picture of him.

_The mugshot from last year not good enough?_

Another flash.

_A heist overseas. Just the two of them. The moment he told her he loved her. The moment she told him she loved him back._

Shoved down a hallway. Vulgar words muttered around him.

"Wait here."

_"We have a room here?"_

_Kate ignored his question as she grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hallway of the motel. She showed him the card key with a flick of her fingers. A sly grin crept beautifully onto her face. "We don't. But I'm sure the Morrison's won't mind if we borrow it."_

_Neal just smiled. He's taught her well. Very well._

_She pushed him down on the mattress once they were inside. She gave him a grin. "I'll get us some wine, too. Wait here."_

Neal was jerked out of a chair he didn't remember sitting in.

_Another date. They were at a museum, window-shopping. Kate had seen an age-old ring in a display. They couldn't steal it then but she didn't stop staring at it._

_Neal stole it a year later._

_He was going to propose with it once he got out of prison_.

A loud, jarring sound tore him from the memories. A cell door was shut and locked before him.

Reality stared back at him full force.

He was standing in the middle of the tiny cement box.

He was in orange. He didn't remember changing. He didn't remember getting here.

He only remembered her.

Memories just came and came and came.

Neal ran hands through his hair. He backed away from the bars until his back hit a cold wall. Shouts and vulgar words were traded in the hallway. Some of them were directed at him. He slid down the wall until he hit the floor.

He was back.

He was alone.

Neal shut his eyes.

He'd survived last time because he had her.

Now she was gone.

" _Neal, he wants something. Something you took."_

He was the reason she was gone.

Neal tore at his hair.

She was dead.

His chest hurt. He couldn't breathe.

_She was dead_.

A sob forced its way out of his chest. It was silent, wracking his frame. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep it that way. Tears leaked from his eyes.

_She was dead_.

She was gone.

And he was back.

He cried until the four walls and the black air swallowed him whole.


	4. Chapter 4

A loud, jarring noise jerked Neal awake.

He wasn't sure he'd even been asleep. He'd been yanked in and out of consciousness all night, the darkness playing tricks with his mind. Memories and nightmares played like a broken disc, and he could no longer tell the two apart.

He blinked a few times, his eyes heavy and hard to open. His suspicions had been right; he wondered if he'd gotten any decent sleep at all. His back and neck were stiff and sore and he blearily realized he'd spent the whole night crammed in the small corner of his cell.

Another loud sound rattled off the cage bars and Neal jerked, blue eyes flicking, startled, to the cell bars.

A guard was standing on the other side of them. His face blank and voice emotionless, he muttered, "Breakfast. You got one hour left to get it or you'll wait."

Neal could feel hunger ache the moment the word left the man's mouth. But the thought of eating anything-least of all the garbage they served here-made him feel sick.

"I didn't believe them when they told me you were back."

Neal lifted his head. The guard's face had emotion now. Amusement. He was grinning. Chuckling.

_He thought it was funny_.

"I'm-" Neal's voice was hoarse from disuse. He cleared it. Tried again. "I'm not hungry."

The man's chuckling died down but his grin remained. "Yeah, if I were you I wouldn't be hungry, either."

He walked away, down the corridor, another chuckle echoing off the walls.

Neal knew what the guard meant. It was the other reason he didn't want to leave his cell for food. Because this time was different. Back when he was locked up here, he'd been one the of the crowd. The other inmates knew he was one of them. There was an understanding they had about him. A fondness. He was well-liked and charmed the rest who hadn't made up their minds.

But that's changed now.

He was no longer one of them. He wasn't a conman. Wasn't a lawman, either.

He was something worse.

He was a  _snitch_.

There really was a sort of  _honor_  among thieves. Where thieves stole from the innocent, the not-so-innocent and even in some cases each other, and they were still respected in the criminal underworld. It was all just part of the game for them. But there was one thing in particular that broke that honor. Shattered it and burned it to ash.

And that was turning Fed.

Neal had never really thought about it. Becoming a snitch. It hadn't even crossed his mind until weeks after he started working with Peter. In the heat of the moment, the throes of the panic he felt in Kate's apartment, holding that damned empty bottle, the only thing on his mind was that he couldn't last five more years in prison. He just couldn't. He was going to lose it.

He didn't think about what would happen if the deal fell through, and he was put back here. Just the thought of it swept an icy chill down his spine, whether that was from fear or the coldness of the wall at his back, he didn't know. But until now, until…  _what happened_ , he thought of little else except her. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was important. Least of all himself.

" _They're going to give you five more years for this."_

_Neal just held the bottle, its emptiness mocking him with irony. He shook his head. "I don't care."_

And he hadn't. He knew what he was doing, what he was  _risking_  when he escaped for her. He would risk it all for her again in a heartbeat.

_But it's too late for that now._

His chest hitched and he ran fingers through his hair. His eyes burned but tears didn't come. He didn't think he had any left.

He would have died for her. On any occasion. And he would have been happy to, if it meant she would be okay. She would be  _safe_.

He was a hundred feet from that plane. Not  _even_  a hundred feet. If he hadn't stopped, if he hadn't…  _reconsidered_ , for even that half a second, that splinter of doubt, he would have been on that plane with her. He would have been  _with_ her. He could have held her. He could have kissed her. He could have  _saved_ her.

The thought didn't last. He knew with almost perfect certainty that if he hadn't stopped…  _if Peter hadn't stopped him_ … he would be dead, too.

_And maybe that would have been better_.

His palms pressed to his temples. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to stop the thoughts. But she broke through,  _god_ , she broke through again and again and again…

Neal heaved out an uneven breath.

" _Neal,"_ Peter had said, after Neal had nearly suffocated on the stock exchange case, a day that felt a lifetime ago. " _Kate isn't on your side."_

Anger curled his fingers and made him grip his hair, hard enough to hurt.

" _At least my wife didn't change her name and flee the country to get away from me."_

A dry sob, seizing his chest.

_That damn music box._

Neal breathed out, trying to pull himself together. It was hardly an attempt, like putting back together broken glass. Each shard he touched just cut him deeper.

Ever since Alex brought up the music box, that one day he and Kate fought, he left and the damage was done. Kate had hidden from him ever since. Over a year, he searched for her, his heart in shreds.

But she left him.

He risked his freedom to find her. He  _knew_ , he somehow just  _knew_  Peter was on the other side of finding her the day he was arrested, but he did it anyway.  _Because somehow she mattered more_.

" _This feels like a trap, Neal—" Mozzie tried._

_His words meant nothing. "I don't care, Moz! I have to know."_

And again, she left him. With just a few months on his sentence. She left him. His sole reason for being. The only reason he hadn't completely lost his mind for four years. She was the hope that flared on the other side of the dark and the isolation.

He was in here for  _her_.

The explosion played in his mind again, repeatedly. His chest hurt. She was gone, now. For good.

And, for a final time, she left him.

_Maybe she left him long before she died._

Neal's chest  _burned_.

" _Neal, Kate's not on your side_."

Neal's hands curled into fists that hurt.

_But I loved her_.

His eyes opened. Tears had fallen without his notice. The words were spoken from his heart, a whisper in his mind. They were pathetically stubborn. They were desperate. And yet...

They held a question.

_Did she…?_

" _Kate's not on your side_."

Had she ever been?

Maybe he'd conned himself into believing it all along.

" _I think there's a difference between loving the_ idea  _of someone, and actually loving who they are."_

Elizabeth's words filtered in through the haze.  _The idea of her_. To him, Kate was the epitome of love. He loved her because…

He blinked as his mind went eerily silent.

_Because_ …

His chest hitched.

… _I just… do._

He never used to think he needed a reason. He just…  _did_.

His head pounded. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked back blearily at the darkened cell.

" _You know that's your greatest weakness_."

Peter's words. One night when he and Peter had talked about Neal's arrest, Peter finally tracking him down. How it all ended with a  _girl_. And Peter had told him: " _Your heart. You know that's your greatest weakness. Right?"_

He didn't believe Peter then.

But maybe it was.

His heart, his emotion, his misplaced passion.

Maybe that's why he steals. Why he goes after anything he knows he doesn't deserve, he knows will never truly belong to him, just for the chance to pretend it did.

The painful thoughts sank in to raw wounds. He let them, shutting his eyes. They felt light as they hit him, not heavy like he expected. Like the light touch of poison to skin. Of flames to rotted wood.

_Did she…?_

And he knew.

He knew it was the truth.

He didn't move for a long time, just sat there, crumpled against the wall.

_How did the truth make it hurt that much worse?_

He breathed out.

Thinking about it,  _accepting it_ , Neal realized it didn't change anything. He loved her. Even if she…  _didn't…_  Even if so, he would have died to protect her and still would. He didn't care about himself. He never did. It was just about her. And he would give anything to have died for her this time. To have  _saved_  her. That was all he ever promised her. To hell with himself. That's how he's felt ever since he'd met her.

Ever since he'd fallen in love with her.

And he'd ruined it.

With one, single mistake.

That day with Alex, when he chose himself, over Kate.

Yesterday, when he chose Peter, over her.

He opened his eyes.

_No wonder she left_.

It had been him.

And it had been him yesterday, too.

_Murder_.

Another hot tear leaked down.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe he  _had_  be what killed her in the end.

Neal pressed his face into his arms and let the tears burn.


	5. Chapter 5

Neal's stomach panged painfully with hunger.

He was no longer on the floor, having picked himself up from the crumpled position and moved to the cot. He changed positions a few hours ago, and the moment he did, the moment he faced the wall opposite him, he realized something he hadn't noticed before.

_This was his old cell._

Part of him wondered how on earth they managed to work it out. Prisoners have come and gone over the past year, and his cell  _had_  to have been occupied at some point.

 _Or maybe they just kept it warm for when he would inevitably come back_.

Or maybe it was just some sick twist of irony.

The thought had made him shiver.

A wall of tallies hasn't relinquished his attention since he laid eyes on it. Thousands of tallies. Four years' worth of tallies. Each one marked a day. Marked twenty-four hours of confinement. Over a thousand days. Of the same day. Over and over.  _And over_.

Neal shook himself. Dark thoughts would always sneak in, extinguishing the hope. He only made it through his sentence sane by shaking himself out of it. If he actually  _focused_ on it, on the chains, on the locked doors, on the fact that he was stripped of his free will, his pride and his dignity for four long years…

Neal blinked. His hands were shaking. He stared at them for a moment, his brows quirking in confusion. They kept shaking.  _That's never happened before_. He took an uneven breath, trying to still them.

They didn't.

Neal swallowed, looking away. His stomach hurt again.

Thinking about it, he tried to remember when the last time he'd eaten was.

_Breakfast, yesterday._

Yesterday, when he left June's. He had hardly an appetite. He had fruit. Not only hours later, the plane-

Neal cut off the thought as his breath hitched. His hands shook harder. He clenched them into fists. He sat there for a moment longer, heaving out a long, reluctant breath.

He had to eat.

Neal stood from the bed, walked to the bars of his cage. The bars may have been closed shut, but they weren't locked. He knew they weren't. It was daytime still. But they may as well have been.

He heaved out a sigh.

In and out. It'd take less than ten minutes.

He'd just be quick.

Walking through the hallway didn't feel different. Neal passed the cells down the hall, not looking into any and keeping his gaze ahead of him. Best not to make eye contact when he didn't know what to expect yet.

Most of the cells were empty. And if they weren't, no one paid him mind, for which he was grateful. He heaved out a little sigh at that. Maybe it would be fine.

He made his way to the cafeteria, brain on autopilot, memories of prison filtering in. Thing is, it didn't feel  _strange_  to be here.

It felt familiar.

It felt  _normal_.

And that's what chilled his veins.

The cafeteria was as he remembered. Bare walls, few guards at the exits, several inmates at the scattered tables.

It was a white collar prison. White collar prisons were the lowest security level of all types. Maximum security being the most monitored, housing only the most violent criminals. One place Neal never wanted to have to experience. Then, more minimum security prisons for less-likely violent persons, and the levels filtered down to  _white collar_. Usually  _non-violent_ , they believe. Which Neal agreed with for the most part, at least in comparison to other prisons, but it didn't mean violence didn't happen.

Prison was different than he expected when he was first arrested. His nightmares as a fugitive were of chains and constant supervision. But here, prisoners were usually able to do whatever they please within the complex during the day. They were only truly locked up in visitation and their cells after Lights Out. With a library, outside track, gym, education, games-white collar prison was almost like a senior center or hotel that you just couldn't leave. Most of the people here for longer sentences have adapted to this brand new life, and even  _liked_  it. Ones who were married to people they hated or did nothing with their lives to begin with.

It was the ones who made crime a  _profession_ , like Neal himself, and the wrongly accused, who found prison to be  _hell_.

He was never okay with staying in the same place too long. He liked variety, he had an energy that needed to  _move_. And that was something prion didn't quite offer. It was a trapped feeling that wrapped around his chest and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

Neal had a heart that craved  _freedom_  and that was the last thing he was given here.

Neal let out a breath, scanning the crowd of inmates playing chess games, reading books, talking with each other, and Neal tried to anticipate a problem. His entire body has gone rigid with paranoia.

_In and out, make it quick._

As he made his way toward the food, a few eyes caught his.  _They're curious_. They were always curious when new prisoners were incarcerated.

 _Eyes down, keep moving_.

There were certain people he spoke to in prison when he'd been here, but he was careful. It was only people he knew wouldn't cause trouble. Too many inmates talked with the guards. You had to be careful and cautious and nearly never reveal too much of yourself. He was well-liked in prison because he gave people what they wanted to hear. He was charming. It was his thing.

_But hopefully you won't stay long enough to have to worry about any of this._

The thought was comforting but he still felt the fear in the back of his mind, squeezing tighter around his chest.

Living in caution and fear was no way to live.

Neal managed to make it to the food, set up a plate and find a table across the room without trouble. He ate fast, still too paranoid to take his time.

Food felt good. It was a little hard to swallow-hardly nutritious or appetizing-but he was full for the first time in two days. At least that was one thing he could check off his list.

His head pounded, with a permanent ache behind his eyes. Eyes that felt raw and still burned just a little. He rubbed at them a little and blinked. Exhausted. He was still exhausted. He heaved out a sigh, shutting them for a moment. How long was he going to have to go through this? Not only go through what… what  _happened_ … but  _here_? How long would it take until Peter could get him out of this? He tried to think rationally, think about  _evidence_  and  _procedure_  and  _investigation_  and piece together an estimated amount of time but his brain just wouldn't cooperate. The pieces were too shattered and everywhere was her face…

A cleared throat startled Neal out of his stupor.

His eyes shot open and he jumped a little in the chair at the sheer  _nearness_  of the voice. Three men were standing at his back when he turned. One right in front of his face, the other two flanking his sides. Neal's breath caught a little in his throat at the sight of the man. Shock. Followed by a cold,  _cold_  sense of dread.

Neal swallowed past the block in his throat and summed up his ability to speak. Which felt nearly impossible with his heart hammering and his chest rigid. "Avery."

Avery Philips smiled, a cold, little smile. An unsettling smile. He was just as psychotic as Neal remembered him, back on the Wall Street case, where the man both tried to con life savings out of thousands of innocent people and suffocate Neal himself in the vault in his home when Neal and Peter had found his ledger.

The same man who, Neal had been told later, watched him suffocate with the curious words, " _I've never seen anyone die before_."

Neal's eyes darted back around the room, to where he'd seen the few guards scattered around.

They were mysteriously absent, now.

His heart pumped into overdrive.

"You remember me, then." said Avery. It seemed to please him. He still spoke slowly, as if his words were carefully measured. It was dark and cold and terrifying. "Because I sure remember you."

Neal forced himself to stay put. The two men on Avery's sides seemed very capable of putting him right back in the chair if he so much as twitched. Neal took a careful breath and tried, "I'm not the one who put you here, Avery." His voice shook. It was throwing off the lie, and he knew,  _he knew_ , Avery could see it too. But he tried anyway. "I'm on work release. I-It was a job." He shook his head, every part of him pull taut with tension. "They would have caught you with or without me."

Avery's smile was gone. "Somehow I doubt that."

Neal's eyes flicked around the room again. Most of the inmates had gone.  _How had they disappeared without his notice_?

Neal swallowed hard. He was cornered and he knew it.  _Why didn't he get out of here when he had the chance?_  His eyes flicked back to Avery. "Don't do anything you'll regret," he whispered, but it held no power. It held no threat. It even  _sounded_  like a plea.

He was begging.

 _Neal Caffrey was scared_.

"Believe me," said Avery, taking a step toward him and grabbing the front of Neal's jumpsuit. Neal jerked back but the grip was strong. "I won't."

Avery lifted him from the chair and Neal raised a fist. Before he could get anywhere near, his arms were seized by the men on Avery's sides and he was thrown against the wall. Pinned there. He struggled against their hold, looking desperately around for a guard.  _Where the hell_ -?

"Someone-!" cried Neal, but one of the men pressed a hand over his mouth at the same time Avery landed a fist in his midsection.

Neal groaned through the hand, pain blasting through his abdomen. A sick feeling rose and he did his best to fight it. He tried to double over but the men kept him there, upright against the wall. Another fist, to the same area in his torso. He jerked, groaning again through the hand over his mouth. Another hit.  _Another_. Tears burned his eyes and his abdomen was on fire. Something gave and he cried out as something cracked or broke.

Footsteps sounded and hope yanked Neal's head up and he struggled against the hold. Two guards were walking into the room. Neal yelled desperately through the hand and Avery turned. The guards were walking slowly toward them, looking bored. Hope flared in Neal at the sight of them as the pain radiated throughout his whole body.

 _Thank god_.

They stopped behind Avery, who turned to them and said, "Gimme a second with this one?"

The two guards looked at each other and shrugged. "A second."

Neal's heart dropped in his chest in shock, and another fist slammed into the fire, exploding the pain. He cried out, tears leaking from his eyes. The hold on him loosened and he fell to the ground, pain riding him in tidal waves. His voice cracked. His body shook. He couldn't move if he tried.

Avery's voice floated above him. "He's all yours, men." Then, directed at Neal, "See you around, Caffrey." Three sets of footsteps, walking away.

"Come on, let's get him to the infirmary. FBI's gonna rain hell if he's not in one piece."

The voices grew distant, and his eyes were screwed shut. He gasped. The pain was growing and he was fading. It was just pain and pain and  _pain_. And Kate, her face. More pain.  _So much pain_.

He faded with one final, desperate plea.

_Peter, please get me out of here._


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth sighed. 

  She was sitting at the dining room table, a mug of steaming coffee between her hands. The ceramic itself was starting to burn a little too hot on her skin but she didn’t really notice. 

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Neal.

  She and Peter hadn’t gotten much sleep. Peter had been tossing and turning all night and it had kept her awake. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and sipped her coffee, the caffeine passing uselessly over her lips. 

  Peter wasn’t home. He’d gotten a call early in the morning from Hughes. He’d woken on the first ring when it sounded from their nightstand and his mood took a steep nosedive. Last night, Peter had said he was going to see Neal today. But Hughes gave him strict orders to stay clear of the prison, as if the older man could sense Peter’s instincts from miles away.

_ Why _ ? It didn’t make sense. Elizabeth’s hands tightened around the mug.  _ Why _ couldn’t her husband visit the second most important person in the world to him? Who cared if he didn’t have a badge at the moment? Since when did you need a badge to visit an inmate, anyway? Who  _ cared  _ if the situation was a mess? What was wrong with a conversation? What was wrong with seeing if Neal was  _ okay _ ? What harm would it do? Neal just lost _ the love of his life.  _

  “ _ You and Peter… how did you know?” _

__ Elizabeth thought back to the phone call between herself and Neal, only hours before the plane exploded. With everything that happened yesterday, she hadn’t had the chance to talk to Peter about it. And at the time, she had no idea why he chose then to call her, why he’d sounded so ominous. Now it made sense. He was leaving with Kate, for good. 

  But he was having second thoughts. 

  The girl of his dreams, the one he escaped for with two months left on a four year prison sentence. The girl who’d started pulling at the threads of his heartstrings until it unraveled completely. 

  There was still something she couldn’t figure out. 

  Peter had been the one to talk with Kate most recently. He had her side of the story. Neal knew this girl, loved her with all his heart, and went to hell and back to save her. 

 So why did Neal ask  _ Elizabeth _ ?

  She mulled over it for the past fourteen hours and still came up empty. But in the moment, she’d given him the best answer she could think to give him.

  “ _ Well, I think there’s a difference between loving the idea of someone… and actually loving who they are _ .”

  She’d heard enough from both Neal and Peter to piece together the relationship between Neal and Kate. And though Neal loved her with all his heart, it didn’t look reciprocated. It looked like he was being used.

  It looked like he was being  _ conned _ . 

  And something rose within her. Some sort of instinct. Something almost protective. Elizabeth knew she had grown fond of Neal over the past while but… maybe it wasn’t just as friends. Maybe it was something more than that. Maybe that’s why she felt the need to tell him what she told him. She felt the need to protect him. To… care for him.

  The coffee was growing cold. 

  Elizabeth glanced down at it, into the inky blackness. Peter was out on a run, trying to work out his anger with Hughes. He wouldn’t be able to see Neal for seven days. The meeting with Internal Affairs was a week from today. And Peter had to stay away from Neal until then. 

  And it still didn’t make sense. 

  Neal was a criminal in their eyes. Just a criminal. A number on an orange jumpsuit. A sly smile on a mugshot. Not a broken young man. Not a grieving, lonely person. But that was it, wasn’t it? A  _ person _ . They didn’t even think of him as a  _ person _ . 

  Elizabeth gripped the mug, even though its warmth was now gone. Being married to an FBI agent, Peter had come home for years telling her of the latest criminal. The latest  _ bad guy _ . And that’s all she thought of them as. Criminals. Scum. Bad people. But knowing Neal changed that. It blurred the lines between right and wrong and proved that one title could never fit a human being. She learned that, too. 

  She learned that criminals were human. 

  And that some were just lost and hurt, not evil.

  Seems the FBI still had a lot to learn when it came to that. 

  Regardless, she couldn’t help thinking of Neal, locked up in a cold, dark cell, with no one there to help him through this. No matter what she or anyone else thought of Kate, Neal loved her, and he must be broken beyond imagining. Why on  _ earth _ the assholes in the FBI thought putting Neal back in jail was their only option was beyond her. 

  No, they didn’t think it was their  _ only _ option.

  They thought it was their  _ easiest _ . 

  Elizabeth huffed out a breath. She lifted her eyes to the flowers sitting on the table before her. 

  Neal needed someone. He needed a  _ friend _ . 

  And though she could visit him herself, Elizabeth didn’t think she was someone he wanted to see. More than that, someone he  _ needed  _ to see. He needed a close friend. A  _ best  _ friend. It was killing Peter that he couldn’t be there for Neal. If only Neal had someone el—

  “Oh!”

  How could she forget? 

  Elizabeth pushed the cold mug of coffee away and stood. She hesitated. 

  Did he even know yet?

  He had to. He just…  _ knew _ things, right? But it was so sudden. And if he expected Neal to have gone off on a new life with Kate, would he have even stuck around the city?

  Elizabeth was out of the room and up the stairs to hers and Peter’s bedroom before she could think twice.

  She stopped at the nightstand by her side of the bed. In the back of the drawer was a small black cell phone. After the start of a nice little friendship between them, he’d given it to her if she needed to reach him. It’s rung a few times. They chat. 

  Elizabeth hit speed dial #1 and waited. It took a few rings for anything to happen, and for a moment she wondered if he would be there. But, alas, just as she thought it would go to voicemail a voice answered her from the other line. 

  “Mrs. Suit?”

-.-.-

The phone conversation had been short.

Elizabeth hadn’t known what to expect from him when she called, hadn’t quite thought of how to put all this into words if she  _ did _ need to explain it all… but it seemed Mozzie had already known.

“ _ It’s about Neal,”  _ she’d said earlier.

There was only a short pause on the other line. Then: “ _ Meet me at our usual table.” _ And he’d hung up.

This wasn’t an unusual request from him. Though she and Mozzie had their fair share of chats over the phone, it was never anything sensitive. If it was about Neal or Peter, any of Mozzie’s recipes or anything else prying ears would have been interested in, Mozzie had set up a rendez-vous for the two of them.

There were three meeting spots Mozzie chose for them--that were subject to change on a quarterly basis to “be safe”--though Elizabeth hadn’t known Mozzie long enough for them to change yet. So, luckily, she hasn’t had to memorize any new locations (writing them down was far too dangerous, as she’s been advised).

One of the three meeting spots--the one they were meeting at today--Mozzie would specify as their “usual table.” Except it wasn’t a table; it was a bench. When Elizabeth pointed this out, he only responded with a nonchalant “exactly” and she hadn’t questioned the paranoid man about it again.

That was where she was now.

Elizabeth was perched on the bench in the middle of Central Park, donned in a tan trench coat that was--again--per instructions but a welcome escape from the crisp air.

She glanced at her watch, wondering what Peter would say if he knew what she was doing. She’d left before he’d come back from his run.

Elizabeth sighed, looking around. She’d been here for a few minutes now, right on time. But Mozzie wasn’t anywhere in sight. He was usually incredibly punctual.

“Oh!” Elizabeth reached in her purse and pulled out the newspaper she’d stuffed into it. “Almost forgot.” She opened it in front of her, pulling the pages taut twice in a row. She pretended to read for a moment, but her antsiness wouldn’t let her keep up the charade. She put the paper down to scan the park for him again.

Her heart jumped about a mile.

“Moz!” Elizabeth slapped a hand to her chest. Mozzie was sitting next to her as if he’d been there for hours. She was never going to get used to that. 

Mozzie gave her a grim smile. “Sorry.”

“So,” she said after her heart slowed back down. “I take it you heard… about Neal, then?” she said carefully.

Mozzie didn’t look like his usual carefree self. His eyes looked tired behind his glasses and he looked… distraught. He nodded a fraction in response to her question. “Yes, I know about him. And the girl.” He met her eyes. “How’s the Suit holding up?”

Elizabeth was taken slightly aback by the sympathy towards Peter. She didn’t… well, she didn’t think Mozzie even  _ liked _ Peter.

She let out a breath, glad to finally have someone to talk to about this. “Not well. He’s still suspended from the Bureau for punching Fowler, and now he has this whole mess to clean up and…” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. “And he’s… he’s just so worried about Neal. I am, too.”

The distress in Mozzie’s face--only noticeable because Elizabeth has begun to understand the conman--deepened a little in Mozzie’s eyes at that. “We don’t have to worry. Neal… he knows what he’s doing. He’ll be… fine. Without us.”

Elizabeth looked at him incredulously. “Moz, what are you talking about?” she asked. “Of course he isn’t  _ fine _ ! He needs us!” She hesitated. Such a strong rush of emotion followed her words. Something strong and… protective. “You,” she amended. “You, at least. He needs Peter and  _ you _ .”

Mozzie’s face didn’t change. Some other emotion clouded his eyes. “He made his choice.”

Elizabeth stared at him. More emotion. She couldn’t take it anymore. The justice system was crazy. The FBI was crazy. And now  _ Mozzie _ ?!

She jumped up from the bench, startling the conman.

“He chose  _ what _ ?” she exclaimed. “To go to  _ prison _ ? To lose his girlfriend? To--”

Mozzie’s head snapped up. Utter confusion and shock twisted his expression. “To go to... “ he repeated hollowly. “ _ What?” _

“ _ Prison _ , Mozzie!” exclaimed Elizabeth. Pent up anger and frustration was bubbling at her surface and exploding. “He was arrested yesterday!” Her firm gaze met his wide-eyed one. She breathed heavy for a moment, the look on his face halting the storm brewing inside. A heavy pause stretched between them. “You told me you knew.”

For the first time in knowing him, Elizabeth saw Mozzie speechless.

It took him a moment to find words, confusion refusing to relinquish his tongue. “I… wait, you’re  _ not _ talking about Mentor? That deal where Neal took off with Kate yesterday…?”

Elizabeth sank back to the bench. Mozzie’s innocently puzzled eyes followed her.

He didn’t know.

Of course, Peter had said that the entire story was being kept out of the press but Mozzie always seemed to just  _ know _ this kind of stuff as if by magic.

He hadn’t  _ known _ ?

And that look in his eyes before… Elizabeth understood it now.

It was hurt.

It was broken, lost, hurt.

She must have been quiet too long because Mozzie’s serious, low voice said, “Elizabeth, what are you talking about?”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Kate’s… dead, Moz.”

Shock widened the older man’s eyes even more than before. That was clearly the last thing he had expected her to say. “She’s…” He couldn’t get the word past his lips. “What happened?” More darkness in his eyes. “Neal?” he asked sharply. “Is he--”

“He isn’t hurt or anything,” said Elizabeth quickly, and she watched slight relief dawn in his face. “Well, not physically, anyway.”

Mozzie shook his head a little in disbelief. “But… where is he now? What  _ happened _ ?”

Elizabeth recounted the events as well as she could--everything Peter told her the day before. From when Peter found Neal on the hanger, the explosion, Fowler, Neal’s arrest and the chaos it all left behind. Mozzie’s face grew paler as her story went on, each addition somehow worse than the last.

“ _ Prison _ ?” exclaimed Mozzie when she was done. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He was no longer the quirky, paranoid conman Elizabeth had grown to know. Now, he looked worn and…  _ human _ .

How is it that those two conmen convince everyone that they aren’t until it’s too late?

Mozzie shook his head at the ground, slipping his glasses back on. He, again, looked at a loss for words. “That girl meant everything to Neal. God, he’s…” He looked at Elizabeth. “Is he okay? I mean, we know he’s not, but… what’s going to happen to him?”

“I don’t know.” said Elizabeth honestly. It’s been the question plaguing her for the past two days. “I don’t think Peter knows, either. He has a meeting with Internal Affairs next week to try to… sort it all out. But I don’t know.” She brushed away a strand of hair that the wind had blown into her face. “They haven’t even cleared him of Kate’s murder.”

Mozzie rubbed a hand over his face. He was quiet for a while as Elizabeth’s words sank in. Then, “Has Peter seen him?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. They told him to ‘keep his distance’ until this all blows over.” She laughed bitterly. “Like Neal is some old case file they can toss into some cabinet to collect dust.”

A new kind of hurt appeared in Mozzie’s eyes. “So if Peter hasn’t…” He swallowed. “Neal’s been…?”

“Alone,” said Elizabeth, nodding sadly. Then, gently, she said, “He needs a friend.” 

Mozzie nodded, until her prolonged silence made him look back up. He quickly seemed to realize what she meant.

He jerked back upright and shook his head. “No, I can’t--”

“You’re his best friend!” Elizabeth exclaimed. His outright refusal took her by complete surprise.  _ Why on earth would he say no?  _

“Yes,” said Mozzie, lowering his voice. “His  _ criminal _ friend!” 

“So?” said Elizabeth firmly. “He needs to see a friend right now, Moz.” 

“I…” he hesitated, seeming torn. “I know, but… I’ve always done my best to stay away from correctional institutes--”

He wasn’t making any sense. “Moz, he’s your  _ friend _ !” Elizabeth pressed. “And he’s hurting! How is this different from any other time you’ve visited him when he was in prison?”

Mozzie opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it again. Thought for a moment. Opened. Closed. Thought.

Elizabeth stared. Something flashed in his eyes then, and either she was getting  _ fantastic _ at reading the man now or he was getting worse at hiding it.

It was  _ guilt _ .

And suddenly, she understood. She sat back, the news sinking in. Elizabeth’s voice dipped into something soft then, something sad, yet gentle. “You never…?” she whispered.

Mozzie didn’t respond, but his eyes were answer enough.

Elizabeth’s voice held none of the strength it had from moments before. She just looked at him, and asked, “Why?”

Mozzie just shrugged. “It… I mean… It was  _ prison _ ! I was…” He shifted suddenly, looking more like a kid than she’s ever seen him. And she could hear the word he didn’t say.

_ Scared _ .

“I didn’t…” he went on, stumbling through the words, “I mean, he had Kate. That girl visited him every single week.” Mozzie’s eyes never left the ground. “He had everything he needed. He didn’t need me then.” 

Elizabeth reached out and laid a gentle hand on his, lifting his eyes back to hers.  “No, maybe not.” She gave him a soft, encouraging smile. “But he needs you now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it's been a while, I know. But it's here!
> 
> Thanks to all who have been reading, favoriting, following and/or reviewing! It really means a lot, thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)
> 
> ~cosette141

"That's Caffrey?  _The_  Caffrey?"

"I thought it was a joke when I heard he was back in here."

"What the hell happened to him?"

"Ricky and Don brought him in. Said he fell down some stairs."

"Some pretty nasty stairs."

The voices slowly broke through the fog surrounding Neal's consciousness. Thoughts felt thick and murky with exhaustion. He hardly had the curiosity to place the unfamiliar voices above him.

The pain came quickly after. And then the memories.

First Kate, and sharp, raw hurt stole his breath and jumped his heart.

Then prison, and ice crawled his veins.

And his last flash, of Avery's face and a blinding pain in his abdomen as ribs and hope broke simultaneously.

"Caffrey," said a voice above him, one of the voices he'd heard earlier. It was firm and authoritative. "Wake up."

Neal complied, but only because now he was  _really_ concerned with where he was. Fluorescent light burned his retinas and he shut his eyes against it. But the blurry view was enough to see he was in a small room; an infirmary. It was one of the only areas of the prison he hadn't actually seen yet, in all four years of imprisonment.

He wasn't exactly glad to have gotten the chance now.

He was lying on something that a caveman wouldn't even call soft and was hardly a mattress. Neal's torso burned hotly, and he could feel some sort of loose wrapping around his waist. He blinked his eyes back open and stared up at the ceiling. He almost laughed, if it wouldn't have set his ribs on fire. The wrapping was useless. Broken ribs needed pressure bandaging, if anything. This was nearly comparable to a bandaid on a gunshot wound.

A once-white ceiling stared back at him, along with the glaring light. Neal shifted his gaze away from it to the occupants in the room. Aside from a table beside the cot he was lying on, a monitor stood on a another table beside him and two people filled the space. One man with glasses and a fixed glare, who was sitting beside Neal—his "doctor," Neal supposed—and a guard, standing in the doorway.

The familiar cold touch of handcuffs suddenly met his attention and Neal pulled at them reflexively. Both wrists were cuffed to the two sides of the cot. He glanced at them, the possibilities of slipping them, however uselessly, running through his mind.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Neal flinched. He glared at the emotionless doctor.

"You're conscious." the doctor stated needlessly. "Perfect. You can get the hell out of here now."

The guard moved forward. Neal was still as the handcuffs were released around his wrists, doing his best not to act on his sudden- _blinding_ -urge to run, knowing that both the guard and his ribs wouldn't let him get very far.

Free from the cuffs, the guard jerked his head toward the door. "Up."

Neal's eyes twitched into a glare but he complied… or tried to. He lifted himself slowly, each movement feeding more knives into the fire. He grimaced, clenching his teeth through the pain, only halfway upright when a hand gripped his arm and pulled him sharply up the rest of the way. He cried out, hands gripping his sides and tears nearly stinging his eyes as his ribs burned. He managed to stay upright, but his eyes were screwed shut and he was breathing heavily because damn it  _hurt_.

" _Up_ , Caffrey," muttered the guard jerking on his arm again. Neal snapped his eyes open, biting his tongue on a smart reply and let the guard half-drag him off the bed. Now standing, he waited, slightly hunched over his midsection, until the guard took his upper arm and started leading him out of the room, rather roughly.

It wasn't until Neal was led painfully out of the room and the guard leaned over and hissed, "You took my buddy's truck when you escaped, you know that? He got fired because of that." that Neal understood why the guard seemed so mad.

Ah. Right.

"Maybe he shouldn't have left the key in the ignition," said Neal with a cocky flick of his brows.

He knew it was a mistake the words were out of his mouth and he was shoved roughly into the wall. Neal barely caught the strangled cry in his throat and he he bit his tongue hard as the pain stabbed, tasting blood. He sank against the wall, just trying to stay upright. The pain flashed some brilliant colors across his field of vision.

"What the hell's going on here?!"

Neal's eyes opened slowly.

He knew that voice.

He just couldn't quite place it...

"He's being difficult," was all the guard said from his side.

Neal glared at him from beneath strands of hair that fell over his eyes, still trying to keep himself from sliding down the wall.

"I don't care!" the new voice said with vigor. "I'll take him then."

"Whatever." the hand left his shoulder, and Neal slipped down further, not realizing how much he'd actually been relying on it. He hit his knees and blinked away the rest of the stars from his vision.

Footsteps left and a new face entered his vision… a surprisingly worried one. Neal blinked at the face, recognition sinking in. "Bobby?" he asked in surprise.

Bobby was one of the only guards Neal had liked from his original..  _stay_  at the prison. He usually gave Neal slack when it came to curfews and Neal even taught him chess. Bobby was a stand-up guy, always telling Neal about the girlfriend Neal encouraged him to finally stop waiting for and ask out.

And Neal could hardly remember a time he was so relieved to see someone in his life.

The dark-skinned man gave him a warm, friendly smile and nodded his affirmation. "Yeah, man." His smile faded as he looked at Neal-really  _looked_  at him. Took in the disheveled hair and broken posture and the pain-raw, pure pain-in his eyes. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. "Neal... I heard about you this morning. I was off all week, if I had known you were back, I…"

"All week?" asked Neal with a quirked brow, finally having gotten his breath back. "Honeymoon, then?"

Bobby smiled then, a smile that reached his eyes. "Yeah! It was amazing.  _She's_  amazing. I love her to death, and I have you to-" Neal's eyes clouded at his words and he sobered instantly. "Shit. I… I heard about that, too. I… I'm so sorry, Neal. I really am."

Neal blinked, tearing his gaze away. He tried to shake the thought of her from his mind. If only just for a moment.  _Couldn't he just have one moment without the thought of her?_ He leaned his head against the wall, his headache coming back with a vengeance.

"What are you even doing in this wing?"

Neal looked down at himself, thinking it should have been obvious. But he was still in the orange jumpsuit. He pursed his lips in sudden irritation. Avery injured him in one of the only places that wouldn't be visually obvious to anyone. Somewhere that was hidden beneath his clothing. No wonder he hadn't been even a little worried about a guard noticing this later.

Not that the ones Neal had met recently would care.

Save for Bobby, of course.

"Ran into an old friend," Neal bit out. "Broke some ribs."

Bobby's eyes widened. "They  _what_? And…" He trailed off, looking back toward where the other guard disappeared. His eyes narrowed in anger. "And then he… I can't believe Tom treated you like that!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly in good spirits with the guards here." He gave Bobby a look. "After I took off."

Bobby shook his head in disgust. He heaved out a sharp, emotion-filled sigh and stood. He offered a hand. "Can you stand?"

Neal shifted a few inches, pain halting his movement and he cringed. "With help," admitted Neal, and Bobby slung an arm around Neal's shoulders, helping him slowly to stand. Neal's face was pinched the entire journey and he breathed out, his entire torso radiating pain. Any normal hospital would have told him to stay of his feet for at least a week. But prison hospital was different. They did the smallest amount they could get away with, and sometimes not even that. Neal knew of dozens of inmates that hurt themselves in the prison and been treated improperly, only for their injuries to heal in wrong ways, never to be the same again. Most inmates avoided much of the physical activities just to avoid the chance of getting hurt.

Bobby helped Neal through the hallway, much gentler and slower than the previous guard-Tom-had.

"You're with the FBI now?" asked Bobby after a moment of silent walking.

Neal half-shrugged. "Sort of." He hissed as his ribs hurt sharply. "More of a… work-release."

Bobby laughed a little. "You're out there catchin' bad guys?" He shook his head. "Damn, they don't stand a chance."

Neal laughed slightly at that. And out of three days, that was perhaps the first time he so much as  _smiled_.

"I missed not havin' you around, you know that?" said Bobby. "There was no one around to beat me at chess."

Neal laughed again at that, until it made his ribs sting rather painfully and he gasped, making Bobby stop. Neal caught his breath as the pain died down a bit. "Th-The way you were playing, your nephew could beat you at chess."

Bobby chuckled at that one, and they kept along. They reached his cell not long after that and Bobby helped him to sit on his cot. But sitting hurt worse than standing and Neal leaned himself back on the uncomfortable mattress.

"Neal…"

Neal opened his eyes at Bobby, who was still lingering in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"If you need anything," said Bobby, "and I mean  _anything_ … just let me know."

Neal turned his head, looking curiously at the man. He shook his head a little. "Why're you…?" he trailed off, looking for words. "I couldn't have made things easy for you when I escaped."

Bobby caught the words Neal didn't say, the question he didn't ask. "Yeah, they watched me a little more closely afterward but I didn't care." He gave Neal a meaningful look, burning it into Neal's gaze. "Because you're a good guy, Neal." said Bobby matter-of-factly. "That's why."

Neal raised an eyebrow.

Bobby shrugged. "Okay, well, good for a bad guy. But you know what I mean." He raised his left hand, where a gold ring caught the light from the hallway. "And you are the one who made  _this_ happen. I'd never have gotten up the courage to ask her to go out with me if you hadn't convinced me.  _Conned_ me, more like it," he said with a grin. But the grin faded. "And I understand why you escaped. If Rachel needed me to break out of a place like this…" He shook his head to himself. "I get it. And I'm…" He hesitated. "I'm so sorry, Neal."

The pain was back, a rush of emotion breaking through a flimsy dam. He shook it back a bit, forcing a smile. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Bobby smiled warmly and left. Neal laid his head back on the pillow. Thoughts of her were back. Back and strong.

_Because you're a good guy, Neal._

Neal closed his eyes.

" _Kate," he told her on the street, after they lost everything. His hands on her shoulders, holding her steady. Or maybe it was the other way around. "There's something you need to know."_

_Her eyes, searching his. Such innocence in her eyes. Innocence and trust. How so very misplaced it was. "What is it, Nick?"_

_He swallowed. His chest tightening, wondering just what a mistake it would be to say it but saying it anyway. "I'm not… my name isn't Nick. It's… My name is Neal Caffrey."_

That was the first day he convinced her to cross the line over to him. And she did. With hardly any hesitation. How he managed to convince her to trust him, to love him, how he managed to  _con_  her to, he'd never know.

And how he could be so selfish to do so, he'd never understand, either.

" _I don't get it."_

_His words had been spoken in innocent confusion._ _She'd looked at him that day, over the table full of cash they'd made from a black market deal that Mozzie had yet to launder._

" _Don't get what?" she'd asked him._

" _Why you…" He shook his head to himself a little, staring at the aftermath of their first month-long con. Something he'd dragged her into and she'd come so willingly. Someone so pure, so innocent, and he'd turned her into…_ him _. "Why you're doing this with me."_

_She just looked at him with a surprised cock of her head. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

_Neal gave her a puzzled look. "Kate, I'm… I just told you I lied to you for months. You… you fell in love with a man that lied to you. I don't understand-"_

_Her hand on his cheek stopped him. He met her gaze as she said with pure sincerity, "Because you're a good man, Neal." A kiss on his lips. "Underneath the lies and the cons, you're a good man. And that's the man I fell for."_

Neal stared up at the cement ceiling, in the semi-darkness of his cell.

He'd been given so much kindness.

From Peter.

From Bobby.

From Kate.

And he didn't deserve a damned bit of it.

All he did was leave behind hurt and broken promises.

_You're a good man, Neal._

The pain was both real and emotional now, burning him from the inside out.

They all believed it, too. That he was  _good_. Somewhere.

_Maybe he was a better conman than he thought._

He closed his eyes, exhaustion whiting out everything else, and he took the escape.


	8. Chapter 8

" _Neal… this sounds like a trap. But..."_

_Mozzie waited for Neal's response, but Neal had hardly heard the words at all. They were in Neal's old New York apartment, and it was almost a year after the Adler mess. Mozzie read the look in Neal's eyes, the pure desperation, almost a crazed intensity, as he whipped around from the marked up map of all the places Kate hadn't been._

_Mozzie had done his best to help Neal with his search for Kate but as time went on, he realized that Neal couldn't exactly_ be  _helped when it came to that girl._

_Mozzie didn't know what Neal exactly saw in her. He'd seen her from afar a few times while Neal was working under Adler, and several times as Neal brought her along on their cons after the Adler con fell through._

_She picked up con artistry quickly. She was smart and clever. She was comparable to Neal in many ways. Though Neal was still a better liar._

_Mozzie looked at Neal then, standing in Neal's old, half-furnished apartment, pen in hand, hair unruly, his eyes wide and pleading._

_He should have lied._

" _I have some… information."_

_He knew Neal would know what it was without detail._

" _Kate? Where is she?" He didn't look sane. Neal looked exhausted and worn and he's been too thin for ages. "Moz, tell me."_

_It felt like a mistake even now. But for some reason, he went on. Maybe because he couldn't stand to see his best friend do this to himself anymore. Maybe because he knew this had to end one way or another._

_But he still tried. "It doesn't feel right, Neal…"_

_Again, any concern for himself went in one ear and out the other. He no longer had the capacity for his own well being, his own needs and wants. Everything has just become her. "I don't care, Moz," said Neal. "I have to know."_

_Mozzie sighed. "I don't know, Neal, I mean… his name is Jimmy the Snitch—"_

" _I have to know, Moz!"_

_Mozzie took another breath. His last chance. "Neal, this feels like a trap."_

_Not even a moment of hesitation. "I don't care. I need to see her."_

_Mozzie looked at him for a long time. He read so many emotions in the younger man's eyes. So much, yet so little. He was a broken man, but he had been shattered long before Kate had ever come into the picture._

_He should have lied._

_He_ knew  _he should have lied when a week later, Mozzie looked up from the sidewalk where he stopped walking. A tall gate stood several dozen meters away. He swallowed hard, staring at the prison fence._

_Neal was arrested a week ago._

_Mozzie had watched it happen._

_He watched as the Feds stormed the storage unit, cornering Kate and Neal from a street away._

_He watched them cuff his best friend, the closest person to family he's had in decades._

_He watched them drag Neal away in chains._

_And he watched as Kate watched as well._

_Then, he walked away._

_He tortured himself with the guilt that he should have lied to Neal about Kate, he should have warned him when he saw the Municipal Utilities truck pull up, should have done something to save him._

_But nothing would have._

_Neal would never have stopped searching for her and would have died to see her one last time. He loved that girl so much—too much—and Mozzie hated her for it._

_She put chains around his wrists long before Peter Burke did._

_Mozzie stared at the prison gates. So many things he could have, should have, done._

_He's never been this close to a prison. He teetered on the sidewalk curb as he stared at the gates in the distance. They were intimidating enough to send another chill down his spine._

_He heaved out a breath, suddenly breathing shallower. He pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, examining the fake ID and other documents. Neal forged them a long time ago, but Mozzie had never used them. He wanted to, now. His best friend was in prison. Their worst nightmare._

_Neal needed a friend._

_Mozzie took a step closer toward the prison, but even that inch closer seemed to close a fist around his heart. He couldn't breathe. Chains, bars, solid concrete, stone faces-it was too much._

_Besides… Neal had Kate._

_That girl was all Neal needed._

_But maybe that was just his hope._

* * *

Mozzie stared at the gates.

He knew them well. Tall, steel, topped with barbed wire and electricity that was invisible to the naked eye. He knew the guard positions, knew their staggered schedules, knew when they changed and when they updated. He knew most of the transport vehicles that drove to and from the gates. His photographic memory has even allowed him to catalogue every single truck, every single guard, for every single day he stood in this very spot and stared at these gates.

This was the nine hundred and thirty-seventh time he's stood and stared at these gates, the same way he was now.

The cement beneath his shoes should have eroded by now, but it hasn't. People still bustled around him on their way to work or wherever, with the typical New York attitude of dodging and weaving around him with muffled annoyance.

The gates looked the same now as they did all those days he returned here. He stared down at his shoes, at the invisible line he never dared to cross. He let out a breath that fogged white in the air. The temperature had dropped significantly since his meeting with Elizabeth the day before. Mozzie almost entertained the idea of the weather materializing the chills that kept running down his spine.

He left his meeting with Elizabeth and went straight to Tuesday, his most zen safe house. But the alone time with his thoughts wasn't as relaxing as he'd hoped.

He spent the past three days since he'd seen Neal-since Neal said  _goodbye_ -still in New York. For some reason… it was just too hard to leave right away. He'd been here with Neal for so long, and this was the first city he's actually felt… at  _home_. And most of that had to do with Neal.

_Neal_ , who's been sitting in prison for  _days_.

How could Mozzie not have  _known_?

Well, if he were being honest with himself, he was mad. More than that, he was hurt. Here he was, Neal's best friend, the one who understood Neal far more than anyone else in the world, and Neal left him for the girl who's been toying with his heart for over a year.

Mozzie's fingers fisted at his side. Neal loved that girl,  _loved_  her with all his heart, all his  _being_  and she just… she just…

Mozzie shut his eyes, anger filling his soul. These past few months, from Neal getting out of prison, to working with the Suit, to playing this endless game to find Kate… just for Neal to end up back behind the same bars she trapped him in.

Without  _her_ , Neal wouldn't be tethered to a tracking anklet, tethered on a leash to a  _Fed_.

Without  _her_ , Neal wouldn't have run with two months left to go.

Without  _her_ , Neal wouldn't be the broken mess he must be now.

Mozzie sighed sharply, glaring at the gates in the distance. It was her. It was  _her_. She took Neal and she broke him.

Mozzie let out another breath, wishing he was back in Tuesday. He needed to calm down. Getting angry with Kate wouldn't help Neal right now. It was pointless to be angry with Kate. She was dead.

_And Neal would be too if he'd gotten on that plane_.

Just the thought of it ran another ice cold chill down his spine. Elizabeth explained ti all to him. If Neal hadn't hesitated, he would have been on that plane. He would have been right next to her and he would have died. If it hadn't been for Peter, Neal would be dead.

" _He needs a friend, Moz."_

Elizabeth's words echoed in his head and he winced at them, fear circling once again at the thought of having to take even another  _step_  forward.

Nine hundred and thirty-seven times. He's stood in this exact spot for practically  _years_ , turning around and coming back with the hope that maybe that day, that moment, he'd be granted the courage to see his best friend.

And every time he walked away, he settled himself with the fact that Neal wasn't truly alone. He had Kate. That girl visited him every single week. Neal didn't need anyone else.

But he couldn't do that now.

Mozzie teetered on the invisible line. He let out another breath, rubbing some warmth into his arms. He still had a quite convincing fake ID in his wallet, the backstory was set in his mind, he could absolutely go visit Neal right now without running into any problems. He could do it. He had the ability.

He stared at the gates, frozen.

_So why was he so scared_?

He shook himself.

" _Neal needs you_ now _."_

Mozzie steeled himself, swallowing his fear. He shut his eyes and prayed to a god he didn't believe in, and he started toward the gates.


	9. Chapter 9

Neal opened his eyes.

He'd fallen asleep sometime after Bobby left him. Neal blinked at the ceiling and wondered what time it was. What  _day_  it was. Sudden panic seized his chest and he shut his eyes. It was one of the worst parts of living in prison. The days blurred together so badly that sometimes weeks would go by that felt like days. If he stayed in his cell too many days in a row he'd hardly be able to tell the passing of time.

He breathed out, remembering Peter's promise somewhere in the shards of the memory from the hanger.

" _I'll get you out as soon as I can, Neal. I promise."_

Neal clung onto that promise desperately. He knew Peter would move heaven and earth to make sure he stayed out of prison but he couldn't fight his superiors. If the  _law_  told Peter that Neal shouldn't be free, he wouldn't be. Peter wouldn't cross that line.  _Couldn't_.

Neal opened his eyes, suddenly missing Peter. And Mozzie. And June. And Elizabeth. And even his desk in the corner of the White Collar office. His tie draw, his Socrates bust, the slightly-burnt tasting coffee when he and Peter were too lazy to go outside and get a fresh one. The late nights in Peter's office going over a case and trading theories and ideas and even stories of their own. Going home to find Mozzie drinking his wine and they would be cooking up some half-baked con to play on Peter—sometimes for no other reason except to bother him.

And he missed Kate. But he couldn't think about her now. He simply couldn't think about her without breaking completely, so he wouldn't.

Neal's eyes burned a little from the thoughts, the thoughts that only reminded him of how alone he felt now. He needed to shake himself free from his torturous mind and get up. He suddenly wondered when the last time he ate was and his stomach growled painfully at the very reminder.

Neal slowly lifted himself off the bed, one hand to his abdomen as if to hold the broken ribs together as he moved. One inch off the blanket he winced, clenching his teeth as the dormant pain woke. It stung, lighting his nerves with a sharp fire.  _Great._

He continued his journey upright slower this time, finally leaning his back against the cold stone wall and breathing heavily. His fingers were white from the fist he'd grabbed of the jumpsuit over his ribs, a vain attempt to alleviate the pain.

His stomach panged again and he sighed shortly. The last thing he wanted to do was get  _up_. And even if he could, he really wasn't looking forward to running into Avery again.  _Or another one of his fans._

It was then that he noticed something on the table across from him. His brows shot up.

It was a tray.

Of  _food_.

It looked like breakfast. Some toast, an apple and a bottle of water. Curious now, Neal slowly and painfully got himself off the cot, stumbling a little and holding himself tighter. He walked the few steps over to the desk to see a napkin beside the tray with the words  _For a good guy_ , written on it in marker.

Neal smiled. "Thanks, Bobby," he whispered.

He all-but scarfed the food down, surprised at just how hungry he had been.

He'd made his way back to the cot to lie down for the next few hours before there was a knock at his cell door. More like a sharp rap on the bars. Just a little startled, Neal jerked up, grimacing as it pulled at his injury.

Two unfamiliar guards were standing at his door, making Neal nervous. He glanced at them apprehensively. "Can I help you?"

"You have a visitor," said one of the guards.

Neal's brows shot up.  _Peter?_  He felt sudden relief wash through him.  _Thank god_.

Neal slowly got to his feet, following the guards out of the room.

* * *

Mozzie was sitting at the visitor table, tapping his fingers nervously against the metal table top. His eyes were darting to every clang of a door or scuff of a shoe, each sound or movement giving him a tiny panic attack.

He'd made it through the gates, the entrance, the security screening, the hallway, and into this room without being arrested. So far, it was a success.

He still wanted to get the hell away from here as soon as possible.

But the thought of Neal broken and alone surfaced in his mind again and he sighed shortly, increased the speed of his finger tapping and remained seated.

He was by himself in the room at the last table. The guards said they were getting Neal over ten minutes ago, and for Mozzie to wait here while they did.

And so, he waited.

Footsteps and clanging doors—and the distinct sound of clinking chains— sounded in the distance, forcing chills down Mozzie's spine and he looked up at the door the guards disappeared through.

First came the two guards, one holding the door, the other fussing with the chains somewhere beyond Mozzie's view, then… Neal.

Mozzie felt his breath catch.

He looked horrible. Not just messy-hair-wrinkled-suit horrible after an all-nighter with Peter. This was… different.

Neal's skin was practically white as a sheet. His hair was as messy as it had been when Mozzie had first met him, making him look years younger than his age. Making him look like a  _kid_. He was glaring half-heartedly at the guard who'd taken off the chains, but he turned then in Mozzie's direction.

He froze.

Neal's eyes widened a fraction at the sight of him. Mozzie was obviously not who he expected to see waiting for him.  _Not after four years of my ditching him_. Neal just stared, and Mozzie stared back.

He could see more clearly Neal's condition in his eyes. In the eyes that have masked lie after lie in his life, but now did nothing to conceal the pain—raw, obvious  _pain_ —inside him. It was startling to see so much in eyes that only ever gave so little. Exhaustion gave him a haggard look, but that mixed with the brokenness in his face only served to make him look even more like a lost child.

Neal managed to speak first. "Mo—"

"—Mister Raneman," finished Mozzie quickly before Neal could say his name. "Your… legal representation." He straightened his bow tie for the sake of the guards. Neal gave him a puzzled tilt of his head, and the curiosity that sparked through his eyes made him-if only for a moment-look like that man Mozzie knew.  _Raneman_  was the name Neal had made for him years before as a joke between the two of them, and it finally dawned in Neal's eyes now, and he nodded.

"You have twenty minutes," said one guard, and they both disappeared again through the door from which they came.

The door clanged shut loudly and Neal flinched a little. Mozzie's brows shot up, wondering if he actually saw it or it was a trick of the light. But it was right in front of him. He saw. Neal, the savvy, over-confident conman,  _flinched_.

Mozzie watched carefully as Neal crossed the few feet from the door to the table. He was walking… different. Sort of… slow. And… stiff. Even more slowly, he lowered himself to the bench at the table. Through the entire maneuver, his muscles were taught beneath the orange material. But he hid most of it from his face. And if Mozzie didn't know him so well, he most likely wouldn't have caught the extent of it.

"Rainman?" said Neal when he was finally sitting in front of him, crossing his arms over the table top. He was grinning, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He was attempting humor to avoid everything else.

Mozzie didn't indulge him. "How are you?" he asked quietly, carefully. He was handling a broken vase that had just been haphazardly taped back together. One wrong move could shatter it completely.

Neal's attempt at a smile was gone at his question and darkness crept into his eyes. The emotions were so… clear. It was… unsettling.

"I've been better," replied Neal just as quietly.

A moment of silence passed between them. Mozzie wrestled with what he should say. He'd come up with ideas on the walk over here, but… everything disappeared the moment he saw his best friend.

It was Neal who broke the silence.

"I didn't think I'd see you again."

Mozzie's brows shot up so high they would have been hidden by bangs if he had any. "You… what?"

Neal wasn't looking at him. He just slightly shrugged. "I made my decision. I was going to disappear. Even when it…" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. "When it… didn't happen, I thought you'd have left New York for sure."

"I… couldn't."

Neal looked at him then. And something told Mozzie that Neal couldn't either.

With Kate or without her.

"I'm surprised you haven't had some sort of a panic attack by now."

Mozzie looked at him. "What?"

"You've never visited me in prison before." Neal said simply. It wasn't an accusation, just a fact.

But it  _felt_  like an accusation.

Mozzie shifted on the bench. "Well," he said finally. "I… should have."

Another moment of silence passed between them. Mozzie felt the tension beneath his skin, trying to remember what he had prepared to say.

"How's Peter?"

Mozzie looked back up at him. "I… haven't talked to him. Elizabeth says not well."

Surprise lit Neal's eyes. "Elizabeth?"

"She called me."

Neal nodded. More emotion passed through his eyes. So clear and unmasked. Surprise, curiosity, confusion.

Mozzie steeled himself, trying, gently, "They're… worried about you."

Neal didn't say anything.

Mozzie took a breath. "I'm… Neal, I… I'm sorry about… about Kate."

If Neal had flinched when the door slammed shut, it was nothing compared to this. Neal  _jerked_  at the sound of her name. Shot upright, eyes snapped to Mozzie's, and at the same moment, he  _groaned_ , his hand flying to his midsection. He doubled over himself, breathing through his teeth.

Mozzie pushed himself up from the table, startled. "Neal, are you-"

Neal forced his eyes open and slowly straightened, blinking rapidly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm-I just moved… wrong," he muttered. But the lie was flimsy and nothing hid the pain in his eyes.

Concern gripped Mozzie's chest, but he forced himself to sit back down. Neal's face had relaxed but his muscles hadn't. And his hand was still twisted in his clothing.

Worry chose Mozzie's words. "Neal, are you… sure you're alright?"

Neal shut his eyes briefly and nodded. He forced a laugh. "The cots here are killer," he said, recovering enough to straighten a bit more.

Mozzie didn't buy it for a second, but Neal didn't want him to know something and Mozzie was going to respect that. For now. Because he was pretty sure he knew what Neal didn't want him to and it made his blood  _burn_.

"Do you know…"

Mozzie looked back up at Neal, who was looking at him, choosing his words carefully. "Do you know if Peter… can get me out of here?"

His words were spoken quietly, and Mozzie was surprised to hear the desperation in them.

"He has a meeting with Internal Affairs next week," said Mozzie, and he saw Neal's shoulders sink at the notion of another week.

Mozzie had never truly imagined what prison was like for his friend. Neal had been here for only three days-albeit he wasn't as broken back then as he is now-but last time he'd been in prison for  _four years_. Over a thousand days. Trapped. Isolated.  _Alone_.

Mozzie suddenly felt a strong urge to grab his friend and bust him out of the damned place right here and now.

"The charges against you shouldn't stick," said Mozzie, trying to add something positive.

"Does he think they'll reinstate the deal?" asked Neal.

"I don't think he knows."

Neal dropped his head, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "I…" He took his hand away and looked at Mozzie, his eyes suddenly red and tired. "I can't stay here, I just… I can't-"

"Hey." Something shined in Neal's eyes and it tore at Mozzie's heart. "Hey. You won't. I… I promise, Neal. Even if the deal falls through, you're not staying here. We… we can liquidate some funds, I can work something out." Neal met his eyes and Mozzie's chest hurt at the lost look in his eyes. "I promise, Neal. I'll work on a backup plan. I'm not leaving you here."  _Not this time_.

Neal just nodded, rubbing his hand down his face. It hurt to watch him do his absolute best not to fall apart then and there. "Thanks, Moz."

Mozzie grinned a little. "We're partners, after all."

"No," said Neal. "Thank you for coming."

Mozzie smiled.

The door opened then, and Mozzie stood. "And we'll reconvene to prepare for your court date, sir."

The guards walked in looking bored, and Neal sighed. Mozzie looked at him, watching the resolve set in Neal's eyes. The mask slip over his features just a bit more, and the tension return to his muscles. He was readying himself to go back, it and it was agony to watch him.

"Time's up," said the one guard unnecessarily. Neal just nodded and stood, slowly, his hand held to his midsection so tightly his knuckles were white. He grimaced as he got off the bench, his face even whiter now than before.

The second guard was beside him. "This way, sir."

Mozzie gave one last look to Neal, who was standing while the first guard was securing the chains back around his ankles.

He didn't look back as Mozzie was led out.

-.-.-.


	10. Chapter 10

"Peter."

Three days.

It's been three days that Neal's been trapped in a cell. Three days since his girlfriend was murdered right in front of him. Three days since he broke down right before Peter's eyes.

And Peter couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"Peter…"

Sitting here in his house, leaving behind a rut in the floor from his pacing or burning holes in his running shoes outside. Even Elizabeth had taken off somewhere yesterday, probably driven crazy by him. He hated the whole situation. There was so much he had to do and so  _little_  he was allowed.  _Just stay home_. That's what Hughes told him. Stay home. How could he sit here and do  _nothing_  when Neal was stuck in that godforsaken place-

"Peter!"

Peter blinked.

He was in his kitchen. There was a ceramic plate in his hands and he was toweling it dry, but it looked like it had dried over an hour ago. Elizabeth was standing next to him at the sink looking at him worriedly.

He swallowed. "Sorry, El, what'd you say?"

The concern never left her eyes. "You've just been over here for half an hour," she said slowly, her eyes trailing down to the plate in his hands. "To wash two plates."

He blinked again. Their plates from dinner. Elizabeth had already washed everything else when he told her he needed to do something or he'd lose his mind. The attempt to do something with his hands to quiet his mind obviously failed epically.

"Oh," he said. He placed the bone-dry plate back in the cupboard. He rubbed his tired eyes.

Elizabeth gave him a sad little smile. "Where was this man when the dishwasher broke last year?"

He managed to smile at her joke and she put her arms around him. "I know it's hard. But it won't last."

He tried to believe her words. But the more he thought, the more his mind tortured him, the more he doubted the stars were going to align. Not with everything that always seemed to be up against Neal.  _He never does anything halfway, does he_?

He needed to figure something out. Find some sort of loophole in case Internal Affairs didn't work things out in their favor.  _Huh_ , he thought.  _A loophole. You're spending too much time with Caffrey._

Elizabeth pulled back from the half-hug. "Want to watch a movie? Get your mind off things?"

Peter's chest tightened. Neal was staring at metal bars and concrete walls. Neal didn't have the option to get this off  _his_  mind. It just seemed wrong to try himself.

"No," he said gently. He rubbed the back of his neck where stress was knotting it together. "I think I'm just going to go for a drive."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Peter Burke, stress-driving? Look out, New York."

"Funny."

She smiled slightly. "Okay. Well, don't be back too late."

"I won't."

Peter kissed her and grabbed his jacket and keys. He left the house and closed the door softly, shivering a little in the crisp air.

He unlocked his Fusion and dropped into the driver's seat, looking forward to a long, serene drive. He knew the parts of New York that weren't as clustered, and would often go for long drives when he was working on a particularly difficult case.

He felt this one definitely fit that bill.

He'd just put the key ignition when two things happened at once. The distinct pressure of a gun pressed to his head from behind and a man said, low and muffled, "Don't scream."

Peter froze, all color draining from his face and his blood running frigid.

"Drive," said the absurdly low voice of the man in his backseat.

A million thoughts raced through Peter's mind. The gun was too close, he couldn't disarm the man without killing himself. But at the thought of  _Elizabeth_  a dozen yards away, he reluctantly obeyed the man, wanting to at least get him as far from Elizabeth as possible.

As he did, he swallowed hard, the pressure never leaving the back of his head. "Who are you?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Just  _drive_ ," said the voice impatiently.

Fowler. It's got to be.

More rage seethed under Peter's skin.

"Turn left," said the voice, not ten seconds into the drive.

Peter did, resisting the urge to jerk the car. But with a gun to his head, it would only be stupid.

Houses faded away to a dark, empty park. The park where he sometimes toyed the idea of his and Elizabeth's kids growing up on.

"Stop."

Peter stopped the car, weighing several tactical moves as the car's engine stilled in the quietness.

Until…

"Mrs. Suit didn't need to hear any of this."

Peter's eyes shot wide and he whipped around the seat.

_Mozzie_  was sitting behind him, holding a ballpoint pen through the headrest of the seat.

Rage, for an entirely  _different_  reason, built up and exploded. " _Mozzie_ -what the  _hell- what_  are you  _doing_?"

Mozzie only replied by opening the back door and getting out, and Peter, completely  _infuriated_ , followed suit. They both slammed the doors shut loudly, the metal clanging through the empty area, only lit by the moon and the streetlights.

And it was only then that Peter saw Mozzie's eyes-and the raw, seething anger in them. Mozzie was angry.  _Really_  angry.

Peter's own fury stuttered, but the adrenaline and near-heart attack he'd been given the entire ride was winning over the confusion. "Mozzie, what the hell is wrong with you? You gave me a fricken heart attack!"

"What's wrong with  _me_?" asked Mozzie, eyebrows shooting up behind his glasses, and Peter was suddenly astonished to see the raw fire in them. He'd never seen the little man anything but quirky. " _What's wrong with me_? What's wrong with  _you_? You're supposed to  _protect_  him!" he raged. "Neal is getting  _beaten_  in there and you're sitting around doing-"

Peter's chest seized. " _What_?!"

"I saw him today." was Mozzie's short reply. His eyes were hard.

Peter's breath left his lungs. "What do you mean he's getting…" He swallowed. "What… what do you mean..?"

"I  _mean_ ," said Mozzie angrily, "that he can hardly  _walk_. He looks as broken as he must feel. He's a  _mess_. That's what I  _mean_." he snarled.

Peter couldn't find words.

He's…

_What_?

"Your stupid  _government_  and your stupid  _bureau_  are supposed to  _protect_  him!" growled Mozzie. " _Right_? It's not supposed to be some free for all! Prisons have  _rules_  against this! He's a  _person_ , Peter! He's not just some tool to be used when  _needed_!" The light caught the older man's eyes and Peter was stunned; tears. Mozzie was…

_Tears_.

"He came out of four years of prison without a mark on him!" Mozzie half shouted. "He works for  _you_  and they're breaking him after three  _days_!"

Guilt, shock, sadness, anger-so much is building within him.

Mozzie wasn't wrong.

All the cases he and Neal have solved, they made enemies. They put those enemies in jail where they would have plenty of time to remember who put them there.

To remember  _Neal_ put them there.

"I'm  _sorry_!" Peter growled back, surprised by his own harshness, wondering if he was shouting that at Mozzie or Neal. "I was trying to  _help_  him with this deal, I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't."

Peter felt a burn behind his eyes. It was true. He never considered what it would be like if Neal went back to prison. He joked about tossing him back in at any point like it was nothing.

He looked back at Mozzie, his own expression breaking. "He's hurt?" he asked quietly.

Mozzie's rage was fading. It was turning into something tired and worn and… defeated. He just simply nodded. "Must have broken his ribs or something. He couldn't really sit up straight."

Peter's chest burned. Guilt, so much guilt.

He shook his head. "I swear, Mozzie, I told Hughes…" His voice turned sharp and his face twisted. "I  _told_  him to give him protection!"

"It might have  _been_  his protection."

Peter rubbed a hand over his face. Up until now, he hadn't  _actually_  considered that Neal was being hurt. He just thought he was being paranoid. He'd just been worried that Neal was alone and grieving.

But  _this_?

He needed to get Neal out of there  _now_.

His eyes burned harder.

"It's going to be at least another few days," Peter said after a moment. "Hughes is setting up a meeting with Internal Affairs. And," He laughed humorlessly. "I don't even know if they're going to  _release_  him! I'm still suspended, I can't go find that sonofabitch Fowler, I can't even fricken  _visit_  Neal-" The burning grew and he hastily rubbed his eyes, putting a hand on his car, as some sort of support. "Moz, I don't know what I-I'm not sure what-I can't even-"

A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Peter," said Mozzie heavily.

Peter lifted his head, damning his blurry vision as he blinked away tears.

"I… shouldn't have grouped you with them. The other G-men. I know… I know you're doing your best." His voice and hand dropped. "I know you care about him too."

A bit of silence passed. The quiet filled it until Mozzie spoke.

"I just hate seeing him like that."

Peter looked at him, seeing a haunted look in Mozzie's eyes. It made him all the more worried for Neal. He wondered just how bad, just how  _broken_  his friend had looked to make  _Mozzie_  react this way.

"Did he say anything?" asked Peter. "When you saw him?"

"About getting hurt?" asked Mozzie. "No. I don't think he wanted me to know."

His chest squeezed again. He swallowed down the emotions and asked, "And about everything else?"

Mozzie hesitated.

Peter lifted himself from the car.

Mozzie sighed. "Just that he wanted to come back home."

Peter's heart twisted in his chest.

Just then, he jerked as his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. "It's Hughes," he told Mozzie before answering.

Before his boss could even offer a greeting, Peter asked, "Do we have a date yet?"

"Tuesday," said Hughes smoothly, as if he'd expected Peter to skip the pleasantries. "Eight in the morning. That give you enough time to get your thoughts together?" he asked, and Peter heard the underlying question,  _that give you enough time to get_ yourself  _together?_

"This can't wait." said Peter firmly. Though the hesitation on the other line seemed to tell him that Hughes noticed he didn't answer the question.

"All right. Call me if you need anything." said Hughes, but Peter cut in before he could hang up.

"Reese, wait."

"Need something already?"

"It's Neal," said Peter, as if the whole conversation  _hadn't_  been about him. Mozzie watched him intently. "Give him another set of guards." Peter met Mozzie's hard eyes. "Ones you know and trust."

A slight silence on the other line, then, "I'll make a call right now."

Part of Peter's chest lightened. "Thank you."

"I'll keep you updated."

Peter hung up, staring at the phone. "Tuesday. The meeting is Tuesday."

Mozzie's straightened. "And if it goes well?"

"Neal could be released as early as that afternoon."

Mozzie nodded. "Good."

Peter heaved out another breath, suddenly just a little apprehensive.

"Thanks, Peter."

Peter looked back up at Mozzie. He nodded. "We'll get him out of there."

Mozzie gave a small smile. "I'll stay in touch."

He turned.

"Do you want a… ride somewhere?" asked Peter awkwardly.

"No, thanks, Suit. I'll walk. Your driving leaves something to be desired."

He turned to walk away, and Peter added, "You know, you could have just sat in the passenger seat."

Mozzie only shrugged without turning.

Peter rolled his eyes, getting back into his car. He shut the door-after a thorough check of the empty backseat-and he stared at the black screen of his phone, shutting his eyes.

_Four days, Neal. Just four more days._

_We're going to bring you home._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry. I had no idea that it's been THIS long since I updated this story!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and hope you like this next chapter :) please lemme know if there's anything you'd like to see in the coming chapters!
> 
> ~cosette141

Neal was walked back to his cell, but he didn't remember most of the journey; his head was still trying to wrap itself around seeing Mozzie in a state penitentiary.

Mozzie, who couldn't even look directly at a picture of it for fear of some sort of superstition. Who barely tolerated seeing Peter every now and then.

Mozzie, who hadn't stepped foot inside a prison for the entire four-year sentence Neal had been given.

Not even a phone call. But a phone call… that would have been easy. Could have gotten a burner phone. Hell, could have used a payphone.

 _How hard was it to give a phone call_?

Neal blinked.

He was sitting back on his bed, the only indication being the sharp twinge of his ribs making him grimace. He sighed.

He didn't like remembering just how much time he thought about Mozzie when he'd been in here those horrid four years. Sure, Kate visited him every week like clockwork, but she wasn't his best friend. She was his girlfriend, the love of his life. Mozzie had been Neal's first real friend. Neal had partnered with Keller for a few years, but even then, he never felt a true partnership with anyone until he began working with Mozzie.

Neal didn't like to admit it, but he needed a real friend, a  _best_  friend, and his only one had dropped off the face of the earth as if he'd forgotten him. As if maybe they were more just partners of situation and convenience to be replaced if one of them screwed up.

He'd been more than surprised to see Mozzie in June's house one of the first nights he moved in. Not to mention Mozzie had to  _sit ominously in the dark_. After leaving prison, Neal had assumed Mozzie was long gone and never coming back. Why wait four years for someone who wasn't even good enough to visit?

It had hurt him more than he would admit.

Neal smiled slightly, leaning gently back against the uncomfortable cot. But Mozzie came. Neal shut his eyes, feeling like the isolation in his chest had eased back just a bit. Seeing his friend meant more than he could describe.

He'd been expecting Peter, of course-had been expecting a visit from him earlier than this, really-but it makes sense. Neal's smile faltered a little. Peter'd been given orders not to see him, then. It must be tearing the older man apart. Neal remembered bits and pieces from the hanger, from the day— _it_ —happened, and really only remembered seeing Peter's eyes. Concern. And pain. For him.

_"I'll get you out of there as soon as I can. I promise, Neal."_

Neal breathed out, really wishing that was a promise Peter could actually make.

* * *

Hunger struck again, waking him from what must have been a few hours' sleep. Neal blinked blearily, still feeling exhausted beyond belief. He hated that there weren't windows; waking up could mean he missed an hour or a full day.

Slowly and carefully, Neal lifted himself off the bed, stumbling as the pain in his ribs woke as well, and he stumbled a little, catching himself on the wall.  _Like I couldn't just deal with the emotional pain_ , he thought bitterly.

He looked out of his cell, feeling fear creep back into his veins. He hated that simply the thought of getting himself a  _meal_  was putting himself in danger of a beating or worse.

But he couldn't starve; he had to get food. Maybe he'd get extra so he only had to leave his cell once tomorrow. And who knows? Maybe Avery was busy right now.

With a hollow breath that held less courage than he would have liked, Neal straightened and started to head out of his cell—

—only to flinch back into it.

Someone was standing just outside of his cell. It took Neal a second to realize it was a guard, and another few seconds for his heart to stop hammering with adrenaline. He took a step back out, and looked back at the guard questioningly but the guard said nothing, just stood. Still, even stationary the man looked scary. He must have had  _prison guard_  pegged as his job since he was a kid. Beneath dark skin, his muscles rippled under the guard uniform that barely stretched over his biceps.

In all the four years of Neal's imprisonment, he's never found a guard standing outside a cell. But if he had to guess why, it couldn't be anything good.

Neal briefly wondered if he did anything wrong—but he'd barely been out of his cell, how could he have...?—but after a moment, he guessed that the guard could be waiting outside of the cell  _beside_  Neal's.

Not wanting to bother with it, Neal left his cell and started down the hallway toward the cafeteria, cursing the limp in his step.

Footsteps followed him.

Neal slowed slightly. He didn't stop, though, and instinct had him take a right down the next hallway—a longer route to the food but his curiosity needed to see-and he started down this corridor.

He listened, and a few seconds later, he felt the footsteps follow.

Neal swallowed hard. Maybe he  _was_ one of Avery's friends. The cells were under camera view. This guard might just be waiting for Neal to make himself vulnerable.

Fear hitched a little more in his veins and Neal regretted leaving his cell.  _Why can't they just leave me alone_?

The best option now would be to keep going to the cafeteria; there would—hopefully—be witnesses who would care.  _That doesn't help the walk back_ , a voice told him in the back of his mind and he bit off a growl of frustration.

A few more turns led him to the cafeteria. The footsteps followed him all the way through and it took all of his self control not to turn around and look.

Walking a little faster, Neal passed through the doorway.

Chatter met his ears as a few dozen inmates were dining. It must be dinnertime, then. Anxiety turned Neal's head behind him, and he saw the guard standing at the doorway Neal walked through. He must have decided to wait until Neal didn't have a crowd as a shield. Neal breathed out. There was more than one exit to this room, so if he was fast, he might be able to run back to his cell before the man could corner him. If he was lucky, he could just grab the food now and—

Neal froze.

Avery.

He was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, surrounded by three of his friends. Avery caught his eye and a thin smile stretched his lips.

They'd been  _waiting_  for him.

"You've got to be  _kidding_  me," Neal cursed under his breath. He mentally pictured the map of the prison in his head and his eyes darted to the exists. He started to head for the one closest to him.

Avery was up from his seat and followed by his three little friends. Neal knew more than anyone how hard it is to find things to pass the time in prison, but  _seriously_  Avery needed to get a hobby.

But every footstep was another hot stab of pain in his ribs, so moving fast only served to slow him down. Neal was halfway to the door when the pain flared up sharply and he stumbled, grabbing himself around the waist and clenching his teeth with a groan.

"Knew you'd show up at some point, Caffrey," said a voice that was much too close for Neal's comfort. He whipped his head up to see Avery.

The bastard himself put an arm around Neal's shoulders and gave the room a casual scan. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Neal tried to shrug off the arm, but Avery was stronger than he was. And the angle he was in only made his ribs hurt a thousand times worse. He was dragged out of the exit he'd been aiming for and was thrown against the wall. A hand pressed over Neal's mouth as he cried out from the impact and his ribs  _burned_.

Avery grinned.

Neal just shut his eyes.

_I only wanted to eat._

He waited for the blow to strike, when—

The hand over Neal's mouth was ripped away with a pained yell from Avery. Neal opened his eyes to see Avery thrown backward into the wall behind him. The force of it knocked him off his feet and he collapsed to the ground, taking down one of his friends with him.

"What the—" began Avery angrily.

Neal turned his head in confusion only to see—

His brows shot up.

It was the guard who had been stalking him.

The man was standing in front of Neal, his eyes were narrowed into slits and the glare was aimed dangerously at Avery. His muscles were even more imposing now than before. If a simple  _shove_  sent Avery to the ground, Neal would never want to be subjected to a punch.

Neal's earlier theory that this guard was a friend of Avery's dissolved completely when Avery quickly composed himself and stood. "Ah—was just trying to help a friend," said Avery, gesturing toward Neal. "He seemed like he was having trouble walking."

"Wonder who made him that way." the guard said lowly.

Neal's brows twitched.

 _How did he know_ …?

"You four," said the guard, his voice low and threatening, "get lost. If you try a stunt like this again _, to anyone_ , I'll add another year to your sentence." He leveled them all with a cold glare. "And believe me. It'll feel longer."

The guard actually seemed to  _scare_  Avery, and the bastard left, walking quickly—almost running—down the corridor with the other three goons. The guard looked pretty content with himself. "Little does he know time has already been added to his sentence. Assault is assault."

Neal stared in silence, at a loss for words.

"You okay there?" he asked Neal, his voice no longer dangerous and threatening like it was seconds before. He eyed Neal's teetering balance with a trace of concern.

It took Neal a second to speak. Already it was taking most of his control just to remain standing. Trying to keep the pain out of his voice, he said, "Yeah, I'm fine." He straightened a bit, using the wall for support.

He seemed to convince the man not to worry because the guard gave him half a grin. "Mealtime's over in ten minutes," the guard told him conversationally. "I'd get it while it's still warm." Before Neal could say anything else, the guard turned and walked back into the cafeteria as if nothing happened.

Neal looked after him in surprise but then—painfully—followed.

Pain that had been dormant was wide awake now, thanks to the rough treatment. Neal walked slow—slow enough that he couldn't exactly call it anything more than limping.

The guard stood at the doorway and waited as Neal grabbed some food—stale bread and something gray that slightly resembled oatmeal or mashed potatoes—and he tried to scarf it all down. For how hungry he was, his appetite was practically non-existent.

He finished the "food" and began to head back to his cell. The guard was again at the doorway when Neal reached it, and he followed Neal without a word. The guard was easily a foot taller than Neal and his stride almost double. He could have out-walked Neal in seconds, but he remained behind him, slowing his pace to account for Neal's hindered speed.

Neal slowed even more, allowing the guard to walk next to him. Trying not to groan at each footstep, Neal looked at him, realizing the guard's eyes were no longer cold. He had an ease about him now. The difference from before was shocking.

"Someone sent you, didn't they." said Neal, more a fact than a question. When he received no response, Neal continued. "I appreciate what you did back there," he said quietly, not used to this level of openness with people. His ego flared up a bit and he spoke before his common sense could interfere. "But I'll be fine. You don't have to babysit me."

The guard gave him half a grin. "Or, maybe I just saw some assholes who needed a talking-to." He smirked a little at Neal. "That  _is_  part of the prison guard job description, you know."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're not a white collar guard, for one."

The guard raised his own brow. "How would you know that?"

"I've spent a lot of time in prison." said Neal heavily. Pain flared and Neal stumbled a little, catching himself on the wall. He pressed a hand gingerly to the fire in his abdomen, cursing Avery in his head. "I know what white collar guards look like." he finished in a pinched voice.

The guard leveled him with a half-impressed look, and it struck Neal even more that for as menacing as the man looked on the outside—and the cold gleam in his eye when facing Avery—he could easily see the man coaching a little league baseball team or something equally simple and warm.

The guard laughed a little, saying, "I guess I wasn't getting anything past Neal Caffrey."

Neal tried to hide his surprise at hearing his name. "So someone  _did_  send you," Neal repeated, confirming his theory.

"And I'm glad they did," the guard said seriously. "Reese sent me to keep an eye on you."

 _Reese_. Neal barely contained his shock.  _Hughes_? But why—

Someone must have told Hughes about Avery.  _But who_ …?

Peter. Peter must have asked Hughes to send someone to handle Avery. But how did he know? Neal doubted anyone inside here narked on Avery. The only person who knew—and would care enough to say anything—was Bobby. But how it got back to  _Hughes_  made no sense at all.

Neal sighed, feeling a headache ebbing behind his eyes. He'd done enough thinking over the past few days, he didn't need to add more mysteries to the list.

"You know  _my_  name," said Neal instead. "Yours?"

"Alan."

"Where are you usually?" asked Neal. "Maximum?"

Alan nodded. "This is quite the vacation from the excitement over there." He gave Neal a look. "I thought white collar criminals didn't lean toward violence."

Neal shrugged. "We aren't all the same."

"No, you most certainly are not." After a slight silence, Alan said, "I've heard about you. Even before Reese mentioned this." He looked at Neal seriously. "You do good work."

" _You're a good man, Neal."_

Fire.

Smoke.

_Kate._

Neal took a breath, wishing everyone would stop saying that. How he's managed to con everyone into thinking so, he'd never understand.

"Thanks," said Neal shortly. "But you… you don't have to keep following me around. I'll be fine."

Alan's face grew serious and darkened a little. "It's not about courage, Caffrey. Prison is a dangerous place for the people who put these guys here."

Neal swallowed.

 _Another reason why I need to get out of here_.

Alan looked at Neal as they stopped outside his cell. "I won't be far. A guy I trust almost as much as I trust Reese will be trading off with me while you're here and we'll keep you out of trouble."

Neal smiled a little at that. Alan's sincere genuinity washed away the sting to Neal's pride at the prospect of having a babysitter. But the thought of not having to worry about Avery—or whoever else he may have pissed off in here—was a relief big enough to shove his ego to the side.

"Thanks," he said quietly, meaning it.

Alan walked off and Neal let himself into his cell. He breathed out, feeling the relief sink into his skin.  _One less thing to worry about_.

He cringed, twisting fingers in the jumpsuit over his injury. Hissing, he lowered himself to the cot and found himself staring at the wall across from him. The wall of tallies.

Mozzie told him that Peter had a meeting with Internal Affairs next week. One single meeting that's outcome decided what would be done with him.

Something squeezed his chest at the thought of adding any more lines to the wall in front of him.

Neal sighed, trying to quell the rising anxiety.

He guessed he would be cleared of the more—he could hardly form the word in his head— _murder_  charges. He would have been on that plane in seconds; he was supposed to have died, too. It didn't make sense for him to be the one to pull the trigger. Neal had trouble thinking that the IA would see him as a killer.

 _But that doesn't explain why you were off anklet_.

Neal groaned in his head. It looked bad. Any way he phrased it, it looked bad.

He was hopping a plane with an outstanding sentence, and not only was he caught in the act, someone was dead.

And even if he  _was_  cleared of the...of what happened to Kate, that begged the question: who  _was_  responsible?

Anger flared in Neal's chest, overtaking the grief and his hands curled into fists. He was going to find the bastard that did this. He was going to find him and he was going to make him  _pa_ _y_.

Every part of him screamed  _Fowler_. How couldn't it be? The bastard set this entire mess up. He'd taken Kate in the first place and he orchestrated their getaway.

It  _had_  to be him.

Neal's eyes burned and he pressed his palms to them, trying to push back the emotion. Anger was better. Anger was so, so much better. He could  _work_  with anger.

_But missing her just hurt so damned much._

Neal dropped his hands and leaned back against the cold stone wall. He glared half-heartedly at the tallies.

Even if he found who did this, even if it was Fowler, even if they gave Kate the justice she deserved by taking him down, it still didn't answer one question. A question that whispered brokenly in the back of his mind.

 _Why_?

His eyes burned again.

 _Why did she have to die_?

Neal sat there for a long time, staring unseeingly ahead, wondering if he was more afraid of what that reason was, or if there wasn't one at all.


End file.
